Broken: The 83rd Hunger Games
by cjborange
Summary: Twenty-four tributes enter the Hunger Games, and only one victor can leave with their life. But most of the nation's victors are broken. They turn to horrible methods of dissuading their demons and silencing the screams that still ring in their ears years later. One thing is for certain. From the moment you enter the Hunger Games, you will never be the same again. (SYOT Completed!)
1. Introduction

**Broken: The 83rd Hunger Games**

Twenty-four tributes rise up into the arena, confused and scared. Which way do they run? Away, into the arena that could contain anything from a freezing tundra to a burning desert? Toward the cornucopia, where they could be killed mere minutes into the games?

5, 4, 3, 2, 1, BOOM! Tributes burst forward and backward. In mere seconds, blood splatters the cornucopia. Screams pierce the air. Young screams, many of which are the tributes' last. By the time the dust settles, the silence is near complete. So many souls have been silenced already that it is hard to remember what the crowd of tributes once looked like.

The games continue, and, in the end, one tribute emerges victorious. They are the only one to leave the arena with their life. But they look into the mirror and see a person they don't know. They see a stranger that has robbed them of their reflection. That person in the mirror isn't them. But it moves when they move.

Most of the nation's victors are broken. They turn to alcohol and drugs to dissuade their demons, to silence the screams that still ring in their ears years later.

Whatever happens, you know one thing for sure. Once you go into the arena, you will never be the same again.

 **Welcome to Broken: The 83rd Hunger Games! The form and rules are on my profile for those of you who would like to submit a tribute. Please tune in :D**


	2. District 1 Reapings

**District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

My father doesn't know anything about style. He says I look fine whether I'm wearing a pair of sweats or a trendy dress. If I want to look great for the reaping, I have to head over to Mascara's early. She always helps me look my best.

I pack a few possible reaping outfits into my bag and tromp down the stairs.

"Going to Mascara's?" Dad asks from around the corner, though it's more a statement than a question. I always go to her house before the reaping.

I turn back and nod before slipping out the door. As I walk the four blocks to Mascara's house, I can't help but wish that I had a better family than I have now. I mean, I know my mother loves me, but I wish she was around more often. Maybe I shouldn't be complaining. The money she brings in from being a supervisor at that gemstone mine is what keeps our house in order. But it's hard not to wish that I had another girl in the house. And my father, well, he never agrees on anything. He thinks I'm spoiled, but I'm not. Just a young woman with a bit of fashion sense. I've heard him muttering about how he blames the academy for shaping me into who I am.

Mascara answers the door, smiling.

"Sangria!" she says. "Congratulations, I heard you won the contest at the academy."

"How did you know?" I was hoping to surprise her at the reaping.

"Everyone knows. Now come on," she says, gesturing for me to come in. I close the door behind me and throw the contents of my bag onto her bed.

"You have got to wear this one!" she says, holding up a dress with purple sparkles.

"I'm thinking something that matches my eyes."

Mascara gapes and picks up the most hideous green skirt in the world. "Girl, you have got to wear this!"

"No!" I say, laughing and swiping it out of her hands. She still teases me for bringing Ben Hansel out to prom three years ago. Saying yes to him was an instant regret, especially considering that I had so many other guys to choose from. He was the biggest nerd in the district and I wore the ugliest outfit ever to the dance. I'm shocked I haven't gotten around to burning that skirt yet.

"I think I'll go with this one." My hands reach for a sea-blue skirt with sequins at the bottom of the pile.

Mascara helps me pack the outfits back into the bag. I have to get back home before Champagne and Rosen wake up. My dad thinks I should set an example for them by being a responsible older sister and not waking up early to go shopping or try on clothes. But they're probably up at this time already. They usually are. Still, Dad sometimes seems to find every excuse he can to take away my "privileges" for the week.

I thank Mascara for the help and jog the four blocks back to my house, careful not to get any dirt on the dress I chose. I'm confident I'll be eye candy at the reaping, just what I need to put me on the path to winning.

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

"Don't forget to cover that scar," Narce says.

"Sorry, I forgot." I adjust my shirt to cover the mark on my wrist. I've had it for five years, ever since my hand slipped and I stabbed myself while I was training for the games. I have to look as handsome as I can for the reaping, especially because this is the year that I'll be volunteering.

"Think you can impress a hottie from another district? Or maybe that Sangria girl who's volunteering? That girl is a goddess!"

I let out a laugh. I've always known that half the district likes that girl, but I got over that years ago, unlike some of the other guys who seem to be nursing a serious case of Sangria Ashworth fever. Narce is my best friend, and I'd never tell anyone, but I know he has a massive crush on her and wishes he was in my spot.

"We'd better sign in before the line gets too long." Narce starts to walk away.

My shoes clomp over the stone ground as I melt into the line to sign into the reaping. Before long, I'm at the front. I hold out my finger. The peacekeeper collects some of my blood and smears it onto a little slip of paper.

"Thank you, sir." It can't hurt to be polite. Especially because I grew up with precious little in terms of politeness. I can't remember a time that my dad hasn't thought of me as worthless. And my mother has never been around much. I feel so distant from her that I even call her by her first name, Alexandra.

Anyhow, the world can never have too many nice guys.

* * *

 **District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

Calypso Star has been District 1's escort for as long as I can remember, though I'm not exactly her biggest fan. She talks too much and goes way over the top with her costumes. A true Capitol citizen if there ever was one. I'm not saying I hate her. She's just a bit too over-the-top. And too much saliva flies out of her mouth when she talks for anyone to be at ease.

"Are we all ready for the eighty-third Hunger Games?" Calypso claps her hands. The audience bursts into applause.

She reads the Treaty of Treason. In previous years, I always zoned out during this part. It's not like I had anything I could miss. I never liked standing all cramped with the other District 1 citizens, and, since nobody I knew ever volunteered, it was a bit boring. But now, I'm so thrilled that I don't zone out for a single word.

"Now, let's get down to business!" Calypso shouts. She struts over to the girl's reaping bowl and plucks out the first slip she encounters.

"I would like to welcome to the stage… Jade Cornelia!"

"I volunteer!" I shout. The other girls make way for me as I run up to the stage, making sure my hair and skirt are in place.

"My, don't you look lovely!" Calypso remarks. I smile at the audience. Three boys I recognize from my grade smirk and nudge each other. I flash them a flirty wink.

"What's your name, dear?"

"Sangria Ashworth."

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

I drum my fingers against my thigh, waiting for Calypso to pick a boy's name. Nervousness floods through me. I spot my friend Vanessa in the girl's section. She gives me the thumbs up.

"I think it's time we pick a boy," Sangria remarks. She laughs as if it's a clever joke before striding to the boy's bowl.

"Flash Riverpetal!" The name echoes around the square.

"I volunteer!" I shout. The crowd clears a path for me as I sprint onto the stage. My hand brushes against Sangria's. Narce catches my eye as I sweep over the crowd. He gives me a reassuring smile, though he does look a little jealous.

"I give you the tributes of District 1!"

* * *

 **District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

Mascara runs into the Justice Building laughing.

"The Hunger Games!" You're… the Hunger Games!" she intones.

She seems to find her voice in a few seconds. "You can't screw this up."

A laugh tumbles from my lips. "Yes, I'm well aware I shouldn't be screwing things up."

Dad visits me next. He doesn't say much, but, just before he leaves, he hugs me. I can't remember the last time he did that.

My mother is much more emotional. "I've been dreaming of this moment ever since you were born. Ever since I saw the fighter in your eyes."

"Thanks, Mom," I reply.

"Just remember that I love you more than you know. Remember that, Sangria, and remember just how strong you are."

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

Narce struts into the room. "Awesome. Awesome. Awesome."

"Awesome indeed," I reply with a laugh. "And it'll be even more awesome when I'm the victor."

"Of course, man. I'll be rooting for you, remember that."

My family comes in next. My mother and father are in the front, with my sister Blair close behind.

Dad sits beside me and lets out a long sigh. "I love you, son." The words take me aback. It's been a long time since he said that.

"I love you too." We sit beside each other for a while. Neither of us can think of anything to say. But sometimes quality time is better than words, it would seem.

"You sure you've got this?" Blair asks, looking more than a little nervous.

"Yep. Pinky promise." I hold out my pinky and lock it with hers. It's a gesture we used when we were little kids, and it's been a running thing ever since.

Now, I have to win. Because I would never break a promise with my sister.

* * *

 **Here are the District 1 tributes! Thank you to Sparky She-Demon for Sangria, and District5Chemist for Declan. If you want to submit a tribute, be sure to hurry, as there is only one spot left in the tribute list. I will be doing sponsoring for this story! I'll go over the details later, but the main way to earn sponsor points is to correctly answer the questions at the end of each chapter. Each question answered correctly earns you five points, and you can use these points later on to give gifts to your favorite tributes in times of need.**

 **Question 1: How many blocks apart do Sangria and Mascara live?**

 **Question 2: What is Declan's mother's first name?**


	3. District 2 Reapings

**District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

The reaping always reminds me of my half-brother, though the memories fade further and further each year. Daeron was eighteen when he died in the Hunger Games five years ago. I watched the boy from District 10 beat him to death with the butt of his knife, wanting to draw out the kill to attract sponsors.

Most people would assume I'd be heartbroken at the loss of someone so close to me. But I just watched his body waste away on my television screen with wide, tired eyes. I might have even been happy. I could never bring myself to call Daeron my brother. He was my lifelong bully. Even his name brings back memories of all the times he'd beaten me, cornered me against the wall with a knife like a wild animal as he laughed.

I wake up along with the sun. It's my last day of training and I want a few hours to hone in on a few skills before the reaping. My trainer at the academy says I'm showing some of the strongest competition District 2 has seen in a while.

My feet speed out of my room and down the stairs. Past sleeping Rhaenys, my half-sister who's super mad that I got the spot of volunteer and who lately seems to be looking for any excuse she can find to yell at me; past my parents, who'd kill me if they caught me up at this hour (possibly in both senses of the phrase) and out the front door.

The jog to the academy only takes a few minutes. I push open the front door and find Sara waiting for me just like she promised.

"Come on, we only have two hours until the reaping!" Sara calls, already changed and ready to start training.

"Hold on, I just got here." I step into the entrance hall that I must have been in a million times before. Sara starts gathering weapons as I speed down to the locker rooms to get ready.

I'm so lucky to have Sara in my life. Ever since Daeron and Rhaenys started bullying me, she and a few other girls have been the only people I can talk to. I have no idea how I'd have gotten through the years without her support.

"Jaehaera?" Sara calls from upstairs.

"Coming!" I shove my things into my locker and slam it shut before hurrying upstairs.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

I am never home on Sundays. Ever since the academy chose me as the volunteer, I've set aside as much time as humanly possible to train. The only problem is that I'm often needed around the house to do some of the heavier work along with my father. But when he's off work on Sundays and goes out to watch old Hunger Games with friends, I have the whole day to myself.

 _Crash!_ I bring down my bladed whip and let the teeth sink into the cloth dummy. Standing back to give my arms a bit of extra momentum, I yank the weapon back with all of the force I can muster up. The dummy is torn in half and collapses to the floor, causing little pieces of cloth to scatter and flutter to the ground like snow.

The whip whistles through the air as I spin sharply on my heel. I'm drenched in sweat by the time I find another dummy to destroy. In seconds, Dummy Number 2 looks like it was thrown into a power fan.

"Not bad at all," my trainer says with a smile.

I'm too exhausted to do anything but nod.

"Just remember to follow through with your strike. Like throwing a ball."

I get into position to try again. This time, I make sure to follow through with my blow. I might have hit it a little too hard. The mannequin flies off of the table and lands with a thud ten feet back.

"I think it's dead," I say. My trainer awards me with a rare laugh.

"Just so you know, you don't have to worry about ruining all the dummies. We get new deliveries every week."

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

I don't remember our escort's name. She says it a few times as she reads the Treaty of Treason, but I'm too busy thinking about what I'll do in the Capitol and how I'll go about training to listen up. I only really pay attention once she starts walking toward the girl's reaping bowl to pick a name.

She grabs a slip and starts sauntering back to the microphone. A lot of the girls around me shift around uncomfortably like they're scared it'll be them. But there are always volunteers in District 2. Even if something happened and I wasn't able to go into the games, there'd still be plenty of other academy students in reserve.

"The female tribute from District 2 is…" She squints to read the paper. "Tia Stone!"

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I haven't even run halfway to the stage when somebody steps out of the crowd. Rhaenys. It's not like I wasn't expecting this. She's furious that I earned the spot of volunteer and she didn't.

"You're not going up there," she says, her tone as sharp as daggers.

"Yes, I am." Three peacekeepers are already rushing toward the scene. Citizens all around are craning their necks to see what's going on. Our escort is frozen in place and quivering terribly.

"I volunteer over her!" Rhaenys shouts.

"But… well, sweetie, you can't… she already" the escort stutters.

"I don't care! I'm going to go into the games!" she says, starting for the stage.

That's when I flip. I hurl my body weight at her with all of my might and kick her leg with all the strength I can muster. The snap is sickening. Rhaenys lets out a little mewl of pain and crumples like a sock puppet. I smugly finish my trek to the stage.

"And what's your name, dear?" She seems to have found her way back to forming complete phrases.

"Jaehaera Blackfyre."

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

You'd think the citizens of District 2 had just witnessed a murder. Given the circumstances, it's not completely impossible that they have. The sounds of gasps and crying children from the back rows shatter the silence of the square. The peacekeepers drag the moaning girl away.

"Leg broken," I overhear one of them say.

"Now, let's choose a male tribute!" the escort says with a clap.

She zips to the boy's bowl and fishes for a name.

"I would like to welcome to the stage…" she pauses for dramatic effect. "Orrin Clarence!"

"I volunteer!" I announce, raising my hand into the air. My quick feet carry me through the crowd and up the dozen steps of the Justice Building.

"Can you give us a name?"

"Nero Ryker."

"Fabulous. Let the eighty-third Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

My father thunders into the Justice Building looking like the veins on his neck are about to explode. He's mad. And I know well that when my dad gets mad, he gets _mad_.

"It served her right," I say.

"You broke her leg! In two places! What were you thinking?"

"I was the chosen volunteer."

"That doesn't give you the right to injure her!"

"She's my lifelong bully!"

"She's your sister!"

"She was never my sister! She beat me and hurt me and blamed all of her problems on me!"

"Nonsense! Rhaenys would never hurt a fly!"

And my dad's time is up. The two peacekeepers have to literally drag him away as he spouts curses.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

My family shows up looking more concerned than they should be.

"Are you sure you've got this?" my brother Clay asks.

"Yep," I reply with a smile.

Dad speaks up next.

"Find water as soon as you can."

"Okay."

"Don't trust any vegetation with bright coloring."

"Okay."

"Don't stay too close-knit with the other careers."

"Okay."

"Make sure you…"

"Dad! I've got this in the bag. I've trained for the games for years. I think I know a thing or two about how to play."

* * *

 **Thank you to Sparky She-Demon for Jaehaera and TheRTA for Nero! Please tell me how I'm doing!**

 **Question 1: How did Jaehaera's half-brother Daeron die?**

 **Question 2: How many steps does the District 2 Justice Building have?**


	4. District 3 Reapings

**District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

"Okay, this is the part where you have to be really quiet."

"You don't think this is actually going to work, do you?" Giga asks skeptically.

"Sure it's going to work. We just have to get the timing perfect," I whisper.

"Gamma, give me the fart bomb!"

"This is your craziest idea yet, Pixel," Gamma breathes. But she hands it to me anyway. A metal sphere about the size of a baseball. The output of hours of careful experimentation.

"Look! He's coming now! Duck behind the bush!"

Gamma and Giga duck down and bury themselves into the copse of bushes. As soon as the head peacekeeper is in sight, I roll the sphere over the ground. It comes to a stop at the head peacekeeper's feet.

"I can't believe this is actually working," Giga says.

"Shh! He's opening it!"

And he is. The peacekeeper leans over and grabs the device. He squints his eyes and looks around curiously, as if trying to find where it came from. He can't see us, of course. The thick bush hides us well.

He presses the button on the fart bomb, and it splits open. An explosion of grey dust comes billowing out of the device and engulfs his head and torso. I pick up on the foul smell from the other side of the square. It takes every ounce of strength I have to keep quiet. Giga and Gamma are both squeezing their hands over their mouths to keep from bursting out laughing.

The peacekeeper reels backward and nearly falls to the ground. He sticks out his tongue and wrinkles his face in disgust. That's when we break. His face turns toward our howling laughter.

"Watt, I'm getting you for this!" the peacekeeper yells, as red as a radish with a sunburn.

"Quick! Run!"

We barely escape in time. Gamma points toward an abandoned building, and we all duck into the doorway before he can catch us.

"And the Three Volt-Kateers triumph again!" I say with a laugh.

"I cannot believe that actually worked," Giga says.

I'm sure I look smug. "And I believe you owe me a loaf of bread."

"I did not say that!"

"Did."

Giga sighs in defeat. "Okay, fine. I'll bring it to you tomorrow."

* * *

 **District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

I was planning on sleeping in the morning of the reaping. But Trinket wakes me up early. He's only ten, so theoretically he should be light enough to move around without making much sound. But since we share a room and the old floorboards are so creaky, it's basically impossible to do anything quietly.

"What's up?" I ask. Trinket whirls around, shocked.

"I just wanted to go for a walk," he replies. But I know better. Trinket never wakes up this early unless he's nervous about something.

"You're lying. What's wrong?"

"I'm nervous about the… the…" he stammers.

"The what? You know you can tell me anything."

"I'm nervous about the reaping."

"The reaping?" I almost laugh. "You don't have to worry about that for another two years, Trinket."

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you," Trinket says. "Promise me you won't get reaped, okay?"

I just smile. "You can sleep with me if you want." I clear a space for him on my bed, and he quickly takes it.

But the sick thing is that I can't make that promise.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

I show up to the reaping as late as possible. That way, I don't have to listen to all the other girls my age bicker about how nervous they are. There's no point being nervous when there are so many kids in the district and most of us only have our names in once or twice. The other plus of showing up late is that I don't have to wait very long for the escort to start speaking.

Ruby Galloway is just about as wild as an escort can get, and that's really saying something. Every time she speaks, she shuffles around so much that her orange hair flies around her head like a coral reef. But I'm not complaining. She knows the right time to crack jokes and gets to the point pretty quickly.

"Are we all excited for the Hunger Games?" Ruby bellows. A few polite people clap and whistle.

Ruby reads the Treaty of Treason. "Now that that's out of the way, let's get right on down to business!"

She clomps over to the girl's reaping ball in such a way that every step seems to make a slightly different sound.

"Our female tribute is… Pixel Watt!"

Well crap. I had so much to do today.

Ruby slams me with questions the second I reach the microphone.

"Are you excited about going into the games, Pixel?"

"Very," I lie.

"What are you most excited about?"

I figure that if I'm up here, I might as well crack a few jokes. I lower my voice as if telling the audience a secret. "To tell you the truth, I'm just glad I don't have to go to school on Monday."

Laughter rings from the audience, a lot of it sounding genuine.

"No offense, Mr. Coccia."

More laughter.

"Thank you, Pixel. I believe it's time to pick a lucky boy to join you!"

* * *

 **District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

Ruby starts toward the boy's bowl, and two words play in my mind like a broken record is stuck in my brain.

 _Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me. Not me._

"Our male tribute is Mr. Joule Merchiers!"

A cry pierces the silence. I immediately recognize is as Trinket's.

I head past rows of pitying faces. Why doesn't one of these boys suck up their fear and volunteer for me?

Suddenly, I feel small hands cling onto me.

"You can't go!" Trinket snivels.

"I have to," I say, holding back tears.

"No. I volunteer for him!" he calls to the escort.

"But you're too young, dear," Ruby says.

"Go find Mom and Dad, Trinket. Trinket!"

A peacekeeper tears him away from me, and all I'm thinking is that I wish one of these other boys would volunteer for me.

I keep count of my breaths and footsteps to give me something to focus on as I finish my trek to the stage.

"Congratulations on becoming a tribute, Joule," Ruby compliments.

"You have to ask for volunteers!" I hiss.

She looks taken aback. "Oh, of course. Any volunteers?"

Silence.

"I guess Joule is officially tribute now," Ruby remarks. "Happy Hunger Games!"

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

At first, my grandfather is emotional and sobs into my shoulder. But he suddenly turns all civilized and tells me that I have to win to come back home to District 3.

"Yep, see you soon Grandpa. I'll try to make these games quick."

Giga and Gamma storm into the Justice Building next. Giga stares straight in my eyes and says, "You're in the Hunger Games. Holy cow."

"Hold on, calm down a little. I know it's exciting but you don't need to have a panic attack over how lucky I am."

"You've got to win. I know you will. Because you have to. You have to win…" Giga seems at a loss for words.

Gamma has a completely different perspective on things. "Pixel, you could die."

"Nobody said I was going to die for sure."

"But you could."

"But I won't."

"Just try your best to come back in one piece. The Two Volt-Kateers would be a super lame name."

* * *

 **District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

Trinket comes to say goodbye alone.

"Where are Mom and Dad?" I ask.

"I wanted to come see you by myself. I'm almost grown up; I think I can manage to be all alone for a few minutes."

"Sure. You can sit by me it you want," I say, opening my arm out for Trinket to sit next to me.

"Promise me you'll win, okay?"

But I still can't make that promise.

* * *

 **With thanks to CragmiteBlaster for Pixel and Writer207 for Joule. I hope your lives are all going swell!**

 **Question 1: What is the name of Pixel's school teacher?**

 **Question 2: How old is Joule's brother Trinket?**


	5. District 4 Reapings

**District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

"Shale Zachary," Coral says with a devilish smile.

I shrug my shoulders. "He's nothing special."

"Come on. You like him." Coral's smile grows even wider.

"I guess he is a little cute," I admit.

"It's my turn now," I muse. "Kelan Thane."

"No! No, no, no!" Coral picks one of the pillows off of her bed and playfully swings it at me. But I can see that she's blushing.

Coral's forehead crinkles as if she's thinking hard. "Cyan Costas," she says after a few seconds.

"We'd better head off the reaping soon. Only one hour left. I'd better get home and change into my outfit."

"Don't change the subject!" Coral says.

But I've already disappeared out the door. And I'm blushing.

Coral is my best friend, and we'd probably be thrown in an insane asylum if anyone overheard our conversations. When my parents go out fishing and I'm left home all by myself, I often head over to Coral's house to hang out. Our conversations usually revolve around new things that are going on, and, especially recently, boys.

I've only walked a few feet away from Coral's threshold when a figure comes into view a ways down the pathway. I immediately make out his curly black raven hair and piercing green eyes. There's no doubt it's Cyan.

"Oh, hey Cyan," I call, putting on a playful slime.

"Hi Dory!" he replies, waving his hand in greeting. "Why are you out so early?"

My lips move faster than my brain. "I was just going to return these books to the library." It's only after I finish speaking that I realize I'm not holding any books. _Real cute, Dory._

"Oh, well, they're just… oh, I forgot the books at Coral's house. I'd better turn around and get them soon," I say, my face feeling hot. "I'd rather get out and explore the world than stay all closed up inside, you know?"

Cyan chuckles. "Are you nervous for the reaping?" he asks.

"Nope," I reply quickly. "There are always volunteers in District 4. Even if I was reaped there would probably be someone to take my spot."

"Well, best of luck to you, Dory."

"And to you, Cyan"

And as we go our separate ways, he brushes his hand against mine, and my heart does a little tap dance.

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

"Ready to go, Roan?" I call, making sure I'm loud enough that he can hear me.

Roan's bedroom door creaks open, and he peeks his little face through.

"Yeah, can you just help me zip up my coat?" Roan requests, his voice shaking.

"Of course."

I know Roan gets nervous around reaping time. Even though he's six and doesn't have to worry about the games for a long time, it still upsets him to see two kids taken away every year only to have at least one of them never come back.

I grab onto Roan's hand and squeeze it twice affectionately. "Don't worry about the reaping. Just stay still with all the other kids. Once it's over, we can all meet at the back corner of the square. Remember how we did that last year?"

Roan nods.

"And the year before that?"

He nods again.

"Good. There's no reason in the world that this year should be any different," I say, sounding more confident than I feel. I've always been terrified of the reaping, but I could never show it around Roan. Little Roan, who always cried when I cried before he even knew the reason. I would never do that to him if I could help it.

"Where are Mom and Dad?" Roan asks.

"They're going to the reaping straight from work. We'll be walking to the square alone. But you're safe with me, okay?"

"Okay!"

And we head out the door into the misty summer morning.

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

Moonbeam Lance has flowing golden-blonde hair that looks like vomit. I don't know how that's possible, because I've never seen golden vomit, but it's a perfect description nonetheless.

"How are we on this fine morning?" Moonbeam sings. A chorus of whistles and cheers rings out from the audience.

She reads the Treaty of Treason and then approaches the girls' reaping bowl. She closes her eyes as she picks a name as if she's trying to prove to us that she can't see.

"Our female tribute is Dory Krillgood!"

I'm shocked to hear my name through the speakers, of course, but I don't experience the moment of terror people get when they're reaped. The female volunteer will be stepping up for me any time now. But where the sound of a confident voice shouting "I volunteer!" should be, there is only silence.

As time passes, whispers break out from the audience like little hissing fires.

"Where's the volunteer?"

"Did they get hurt?"

"Are they sick?"

"Will we have a reaped tribute this year?"

"Dory Krillgood?" Moonbeam repeats, confusion sounding in her Capitol accent. "Are you coming?"

I melt out of the crowd and take a deep breath. My, this volunteer is taking forever! Trying not to shake, I make my walk to the stage, taking my time as I pass the cuter boys. Once I've reached the microphone, I give a flirty wink to the cameras.

"Any volunteers for Miss Dory here?"

But nobody volunteers.

A pit starts to form in my stomach. Why am I here? It doesn't make any sense.

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

"Let's pick a boy to join you!" Moonbeam says. She sashays to the boy's reaping ball and plunges her hand into the mass of tightly folded papers.

"I would like to give a warm welcome to…" she pauses, letting the anticipation draw out. "Cyan Costas!"

I can't help but let out a chuckle. There are so many kids in District 4. It's a bit amusing to have one of the few slips of paper containing my name picked out of hundreds of others. It's not like I'll actually be going into the games. I just have to wait for the male volunteer to step up.

But, for some reason unknown, that volunteer doesn't budge. And I'm forced to make the walk of shame to the stage, passing rows and rows of pitying faces that are as confused as I am that both the male and female volunteers are absent.

"Wonderful!" Moonbeam announces. "I give you the tributes of District 4!"

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

My dad's mouth is moving a mile a minute from the second he enters the Justice Building.

"Oh my gosh Dory, the games, I mean, the Capitol, I'll miss you, you have to win, though, you can win, I know you can…"

"Hold on!" I shout, extending my hand as if his words are physical objects I can block the flow of. "What happened? Where were the volunteers?"

My dad clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "I hear that the female volunteer fell down the stairs and broke her leg a few hours ago. There wasn't enough notice for another volunteer to be selected. And the boy volunteer just had a change of heart at the last moment. He chickened out."

Well, what are the odds of that? Decades of volunteers going into the games, and then we get two reaped tributes in one year.

Coral walks morosely into the Justice Building with a sad smile.

"I'm really going to miss you," she says, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry. I'll be back before you know it. Just don't go around breaking boy's hearts while I'm gone, okay?"

A laugh tumbles from Coral's lips. "I promise."

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

My best friend Loras makes his goodbyes quick. He pats me on the back and gives me a fist bump. Loras says a few words of encouragement and then his time is up. He's always straightforward like that.

My parents are much more emotional.

"You have to come home!" my mother says, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Don't worry. All this will be over before you know it and we'll be living in the Victor's Village." I'm surprised by how assured I sound.

"I love you, Cyan."

"I love you, Mom."

My dad kneels in front of me. "In the games, you don't have to the strongest. You just have to be the smartest. You have such a brilliant mind. Use it."

The door swings open, and I choke out one last thing before the peacekeepers escort my parents away.

"Just in case some miracle happens and I don't make it back, I left a note under my bed with my final goodbyes to my friends. Would you mind showing it to them?"

My parents are gone before they can give me a response. I hope they heard me.

* * *

 **Thank you to CragmiteBlaster for Dory and AnotherDawnLikeOurFlag for Cyan. Expect more chapters soon!**

 **Question 1: What does Dory think Moonbeam's hair looks like?**

 **Question 2: Where do Cyan and his family meet after the reaping every year?**


	6. District 5 Reapings

**District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

The sound of footsteps awakens me. My hands reach through the darkness and lock around my flashlight. I shine it at the clock. 2:34 A.M. Papa must be sleepwalking again. He always sleepwalks when he's nervous. Of course he's nervous. Today is the day of the reaping.

I roll out of bed and lightly tread down the stairs. Sure enough, Papa is standing in the parlor, milling in circles. He's muttering something quietly to himself, but I can't quite make it out.

"Papa!" I call.

He jumps. "Oh. It's just you, Adelaide. What happened?"

"You were just sleepwalking," I answer. I start walking toward the kitchen. "Would you like a glass of water?"

"Yes, please."

I return in a few seconds with the glass. He gulps it down, sighing gratefully from the refreshing drink.

"Go back to bed now," I whisper, ushering him back toward the bedroom. "You're safe. It was only a dream. A figment of your imagination. Just a fantasy."

"Yes, only a dream," he mumbles, his voice fading slowly away. He must be falling back asleep already. I only walk back upstairs once I'm sure he's safe and sound in bed.

Upstairs, I find my bedroom door shut. I must have closed it on the way out. As I turn the handle, my sleeve falls down. A moonbeam falls through the window and illuminates my scar. I scowl and cover it back up. It's been three years since I got that scar. But I still remember it. Vividly. I was just trying to break up a fight when my friend Solena's father smashed a glass bottle into my arm. I'm still furious at him to this day. Even when I'm alone, looking at that scar makes my vision go red.

No matter how much I toss and turn in bed, I can't fall asleep. It seems like it's been an eternity when I finally grab a flashlight and dictionary. Memorizing definitions always calms me down. Definitions help keep in order the things that can't be kept in order. They help to explain the things I can't explain.

 _Bureaucratic (adj): Overly concerned with procedure at the expense of efficiency or common sense._

I like that word. It reminds me of a fancy building with heavy marble columns, though I'm not sure why.

 _Aglet (n): A metal or plastic tube fixed tightly around the end of a shoelace._

Interesting. I never knew there was a word for those.

Before long, I'm lost in a pile of pronouns, adverbs, past participles, articles, and helping verbs, and a dark wave of sleep washes over me.

* * *

 **District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-**

The morning of the reaping is never different from any other morning in the Wattson household. Mom and Dad's loud conversations jolt me out of my sleep and I have no choice but to get up and make myself some coffee.

"I have good news!" my father gushes. "We made a new business deal with Microbite Incorporated! That means new advertising potential, and, my favorite, more money!"

"Can you quiet down?" I rasp, taking a sip of my coffee. "It's seven in the morning for Pete's sake."

"How can I be quiet when today is the start of a whole new era in our business?" Dad asks, louder than ever before.

"Well, could you start by lowering your voice just a little?" I say, annoyed.

"Hey! I don't like where this new attitude came from," Mom warns. "I'll take away your computer for another week, I will."

"So?"

"So?" Mom roars. "Go to your room!"

I can't hide my amusement. "You know I'm not seven years old, right?"

"It doesn't matter how old you are! You're under my roof, you're under my rules!"

"Fine!" I yell, storming up the stairs. Volkner stands on the first landing.

"What's with all of the noise? I'm trying to sleep," Volkner says groggily, evidently sleep-addled.

"Mom and Dad are just being stupid as usual."

He gasps. "Don't say that. They work hard to keep the household running." Volkner looks genuinely offended.

"Don't give me that. Just because Mom invents some stupid weather tracker doesn't mean she has the right to boss us around," I spit.

"You're going to regret all of this one day," he warns.

"I. Don't. Care!" And I slam the door to my bedroom behind me.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

District 5's escort Amity Kilbane has hair a bit too yellow for my liking. She talks a bit too much for my taste. And her butt juts out much too far for anyone to be at ease.

"Are we ready for the eighty-third annual Hunger Games?" Amity bellows into the microphone before clapping her hands over her head. A few people clap.

"Good!" Amity reads through the Treaty of Treason and then makes a start toward the girls' reaping bowl.

Amity draws one of the slips and slowly unfolds it. Silence envelops the square.

"Adelaide Hampton!"

I always thought that if I were reaped I would cry. But crying is for things that you have no control over. Crying is for times where there is no option but to accept things as they are. This is not one of those times. There's no doubt that I can win if I play my cards right. Tributes win the games by outwitting their competitors just as often as overpowering them.

I swallow hard and walk to the stage as calmly as possible. It's funny how being reaped seems to turn the dial down on everything. All I'm thinking about is how the cameras are trained on me. I only have one shot at this. I can't screw this up.

"Congratulations, "Amity says. "What's it like in your first few moments as a tribute?"

I take two deep breaths to calm myself, but my voice still cracks a little from nervousness. "It's great. I can't wait to get to the Capitol. I wonder what it's like there!" I say, feigning enthusiasm.

Amity checks her watch. "My! We're almost out of time. We'd better pick a lucky boy before time is up!"

She shuffles over the boy's bowl. I wonder who'll be joining me in the games.

* * *

 **District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-**

"Arthur Wattson!"

My name sounds weird through the speakers. There are a few seconds of shock, and then terror starts to set in. I am going into the Hunger Games.

 _Calm down, Arthur. You might not have to go anywhere._

I peer all around, panning over the rows of faces. Where is Arthur? Hmmm. I wonder where he is. I've never heard that name before.

Someone taps me on my shoulder. A boy I recognize from my grade.

"Are you Arthur Wattson?" the boy asks, though he looks like he already knows the answer.

"Nope," I say quickly. "Never heard of him."

The boy raises his hand. "Arthur is right here!" he yells.

"Shut up!" I hiss.

"Mr. Wattson, are you coming?" Amity repeats.

"Yep," I scowl. And I walk to the stage. Thanks a lot, stupid kid.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

Dad and Papa speed into the Justice Building. I've never minded having two fathers. They're as loving as two parents ever could be.

"Adelaide," Dad says, "I know you can win the games."

"And with your eyes closed, too," Papa adds.

"I don't think we ought to arrange that, though." It's my lame attempt at a joke, and they don't laugh.

"You're smart," Papa continues.

"But what if I'm not smart enough?"

"Not smart enough? Oh please," Dad breathes. "You asked for a dictionary and set of encyclopedias for your eighth birthday. The others won't have a prayer."

* * *

 **District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-**

My parents are the only people that come to say goodbye . It's not like I mind. I don't remember the last time I called anybody my friend. I'm perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much.

"You've got to win, you've just got to," Dad says. "You've got to inherit the family business!"

"What if I don't care about the family business?"

Dad stops breathing for a few seconds, and silence envelops the Justice Building. He looks like he wants to argue, but he decides not to. Dad steps back and lets Mom do the talking.

"I love you," Mom says, tracing her finger over my ear. "And you're about to face some of the most difficult things you have ever encountered. Just remember how strong you are."

* * *

 **Surprise! Double update! Inclement weather had me trapped inside with nothing to do all day but write. Thanks to TheReaper94 for Adelaide and HoppsHungerfan for Arthur!**

 **Question 1: What is an aglet?**

 **Question 2: What beverage does Arthur drink every morning?**


	7. District 6 Reapings

**District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

There is something uniquely disgusting about pancakes drenched in syrup that makes me feel like vomiting. My father insists that we eat them at breakfast the morning of the reaping every year. I've never felt up to telling my dad that he's not a very good cook. I only have to eat Dad's pancakes once a year, after all.

"Are you excited to see what Tulip Newberry's costume looks like this year?" Dad asks, shoveling a bit of pancake into his mouth.

I let out a laugh. "I don't think she can beat last year. She looked like she was in a banana costume!"

"I don't think it's funny," Mom sighs, setting down her fork. "Don't you feel bad watching two kids taken to the Capitol to die?"

"Come on, Mom. It's not like District 6 tributes never survive."

"But one of them always dies."

The sound of little footsteps is heard, and Elizabeth comes into view, already in her reaping clothes.

"Look who's here!" Mom says with a smile. "What a beautiful dress for a beautiful girl."

"Thanks, Mommy. You look beautiful too." Elizabeth scampers to the sink to get a glass of water. She's always cheerful like that. That's probably because she's just not been exposed to how ugly the world can be. But that can't last long. This is her last year of safety; her name will go into the reaping next year.

"Morning, Lexie," Elizabeth chirps, kissing me on the cheek.

"Morning, Elizabeth."

"Morning, Mommy."

"Morning, Elizabeth."

"Morning, Daddy."

"Morning, Elizabeth."

"Ope! Let me help you button up your dress!" I push away from the table, looking for any excuse to get away from my half-eaten pancakes.

"The reaping's in ten minutes. I'd better put on my own outfit!" I shout to my parents, speeding to my room and away from the bad smell.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

What do you pack when you have ten minutes to leave your home forever? I remember quite clearly. I lifted the corners of the canvas cover of my mattress and used it as a luggage carrier. I shoved a few of my favorite books inside. A toothbrush. A bottle of water. Some snacks. A pillow. A change of clothes.

Right before I left my house for the last time, I gave a final hateful look at my parents. They were chatting around the kitchen table, completely ignoring me as if I were invisible. The house around us was crumbling. They couldn't afford to take care of me. So they told me to scram.

Of course, the peacekeepers found me in ten seconds and threw me in the orphanage. Life there was awful. The staff could beat us freely without facing any punishment. If we didn't fold our clothes properly, we'd be locked in the cellar. Too often were kids sent to the office only to come back with ugly red marks on their faces. Sometimes they never came back at all.

I took the hint. I wasn't wanted. So I ran away. I felt like giving up on life until I found Ford. They say that everyone is climbing the same mountain but on different sides. But Ford and I were taking the same exact path up the mountain. He had been thrown out by his parents just like me. He'd had the same experiences in the orphanage. And there's a kind of camaraderie that comes from having someone to relate to when your life is as sucky as mine.

"Are you sure the coast is clear?" Ford hisses, hand reaching for the window crank.

"Yep," I reply.

Ford begins turning the crank. The instant the bakery window is fully open, a mouth-watering aroma of freshly-baked bread comes wafting out.

Ford gives me the thumbs up. Stealing from the bakery is about as safe as prodding a sleeping bear in the eye. There's no doubt we'd be killed if we were caught by the baker. But over the years I've gotten very good at it, if I do say so myself.

My feet touch down on the cool floor. I peer around and snatch up the first loaf I encounter. Ever so carefully, I climb back out of the window. Ford cranks the window closed behind me. And then we're off.

We collapse together on a grassy hill about half a mile away. It's only then that I realize the loaf I stole is far from perfect. Half of it is charred black and the rest is so crumbly in breaks in half when I give it a light squeeze.

"Is this alright?" I ask Ford.

"It's the best we're going to get," he replies. "You take the good half."

"No, you take the good half. It was your idea to use the side window."

"But you did the stealing. You deserve it."

"Now that I think about it, both halves are equally unappetizing," I say, laughing a little.

"I guess we'll just play Rock, Paper, Scissors," he suggests, already starting to pound his fist onto his open palm.

* * *

 **District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

When Tulip Newberry dances onto the stage, a collective laugh rises up from the audience. Her costumes never fail to look ridiculous, and this year is no exception. Tulip wears a tight forget-me-not blue suit that squeezes her torso so firmly I'm surprised she isn't choking. Down her legs are orange, furry pants with little suction cups like octopus tentacles. A large crimson headdress decorates her head, and lilac flowers are woven into her pigtails.

"Well, I'm flattered," Tulip says once she reaches the microphone.

Silence envelops the square. I anxiously drum my nails on my palm as she reads the Treaty of Treason. "Ladies first," she chimes as she struts toward the girls' reaping ball.

"Lexus Beltran."

I feel like I've been knocked in the stomach. Before I know it, I'm on the ground. Black spots dot my vision, threatening to take my sight and consciousness completely. _I will not pass out,_ I mutter to myself, struggling to get back to my feet. The butterflies that used to be fluttering in my stomach have since turned to pigeons. My blood runs cold. I am going to die.

A peacekeeper helps me to the stage. It's a swath of yellows and greens that I see as I pan over the crowd. Morphling really is an issue in District 6. I tried it once. It felt fake. But if it could calm me down right now, I wouldn't say no to some.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Tulip plunges her hand into the boys' reaping ball and strolls back to the microphone.

"Lincoln Blitz."

A cold wave of terror washes over me. I try to move, but my feet are glued to the spot.

Ford grabs my arm. "I've got this, man. I can volunteer for you."

"No," I hiss, squirming out of his grasp. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, but I refuse to let them run. If there's any way to destroy what little chance I have of winning the games, it'd be by crying.

At the microphone, Tulip's face does a little grimace. I haven't washed in days. I must be dirty and smell awful. I hope there are good showers on the train.

* * *

 **District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

Mom wipes a tear from her eye and wraps her arms tightly around me.

"I don't want to die, Mom!" I cry out, hugging her tighter.

"Nobody said you were going to die, Sweetie," Mom chokes. Her lack of sincerity makes me even more scared.

Dad sits down beside me. It's a long time before he talks.

"You're so brave, Lexie," he says through tears. But he doesn't say anything else. Whenever he opens his mouth to speak, little disjointed sounds come out. It's as if he's too terrified to speak clearly.

Cara sprints into the Justice Building and collapses on the chair across from me.

"I'm really going to miss you," she says, putting on a sad smile.

"I'm going to miss you, too."

"But you can win," Cara says.

I can't win. She must know that. But it can't hurt to be optimistic in my last few moments with her. "Maybe," is all I say.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Nobody comes to say goodbye. The only people I'm close to are orphans just like myself. The peacekeepers never let orphans into the Justice Building to say goodbye. I guess they track in too much dirt.

At one point, a peacekeeper pokes his head in. I ask if I can just get onto the train right now.

"You have to wait for visitors," he says gruffly.

"Nobody's coming," I insist.

"You have to wait for visitors," he repeats.

I sigh and lie back on the sofa, savoring the moment of silence.

* * *

 **The reapings are halfway over. Woohoo! Thank you to paperairline for Lexus and jjjr7301 for Lincoln! You're all doing so well on these questions. I've got to think of some harder ones…**

 **Question 1: True or False: Lexus' sister Elizabeth is ten years old.**

 **Question 2: What does Lincoln hope will be on the train?**


	8. District 7 Reapings

**District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

"Are you nervous for the reaping?" Uncle Jon asks.

"Nope. There's no point to being nervous. Being nervous can't change the future," I answer.

"Not even a little nervous?"

I let out a short laugh. "I thought you caught on that I was one of those aliens from the Capitol."

Aunt Wren comes thundering down the stairs, looking frazzled and just about ready to explode.

"Jon! Juniper needs help with her dress!" she shouts, running to grab her shoes.

Uncle Jon leaves to go help her, and I'm left alone in the living room. I've already changed into my reaping dress and my shoes. Aunt Wren and Uncle Jon are speeding around the house trying to get everything in order before we leave for the reaping. The best I can do is just stay out of their way.

My eyes wander around the living room. Past the old television set that looks like it might fall apart any second now, past the ancient piano Aunt Wren refuses to get rid of because she's "going to sell it some day."

My gaze lands on the picture of my Mom and Dad on the mantelpiece. It's the only picture of my parents in the house. They both died in a forest fire. Their bodies were never recovered. The authorities said they had been incinerated by the flames. I was eleven then. Four years later, I still wake up screaming for them to run.

Uncle Jon and Aunt Wren have taken care of me since then. It's not hard to tell that they prefer their true children. I've always been second class in the house, and over the years it's gotten harder and harder to be optimistic.

"Come on, Cerise, the reaping's in ten minutes!" Aunt Wren says, jamming the skeleton key into the front door. She and Uncle Jon speed out, followed by Juniper, Landon, and Dorian. I'm the last one out. I'm always the last one out.

But hey, life's not all that bad. We could be starving like a good portion of District 7. We could be living in a cardboard box in the dump. If I do say so myself, I've always been the family optimist. But when you live in a place as sucky as Panem, that can get very tiring.

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

"What's taking you so long? The reaping is in half an hour!" Rhiannon shouts from downstairs.

Giggling, I shove the box with the ring into my coat pocket and speed downstairs.

Rhiannon is standing in the kitchen, and, as usual, my heart does a little leap when I see her. With her chocolate-brown eyes and golden-blonde hair, she's easily the prettiest girl I've ever seen.

"You look beautiful," I say, blushing.

Rhiannon giggles a little. "Thank you."

My entire body shakes as I approach her. "You know, Rhiannon…" I stutter.

"What? Is something wrong?" She looks more than a little concerned.

"I just wanted to do this… I mean, with the reaping and all, I wouldn't want this to go undone."

Shaking, I get down on one knee. Rhiannon gasps and places her hands over her mouth. My heart rattles in my chest a million miles per hour.

I pull the ring out of my pocket. "Will you marry me?"

"Oh my god! Yes!" she says right away. My eyes well with tears as my lips form into a smile. But they're not sad tears. They're tears of joy. Emblems of the warm and fuzzy feeling I get inside when I look into her eyes, of the way her laughter makes me happy when the sky is grey.

"I love you, Erik," she says as I fit the ring onto her finger.

"I love you, Rhiannon," I say.

Her lips press against mine right away, almost like she's thought about doing this before.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

My friend Odelia thinks that she's a riot. Whenever she tells a joke, I let out a quiet laugh to be polite. I've never said anything bad to her face, because, well, Odelia really is a good friend. Here, she narrates the every move of District 7's escort, Harpsichord May.

"Look at the way she swings around when she walks! Like a duck!" Odelia whispers into my ear.

"Watch how she raises her eyebrows when she picks the name out of the reaping ball!"

"See how she mumbles as she unfolds the paper!"

"Cerise Yew!" Harpsichord announces.

Odelia starts making her next joke before it sets in. "Listen how she exaggerates the… oh. That's your name."

My first reaction is denial. This can't be happening. It's not possible. There are thousands of girls in District 7! I'm just dreaming. I'm going to wake up in my warm bed any second now. Once the denial wears off, terror sets in.

I melt out of the crowd and walk briskly to the stage. I will not cry. I will not cry. _I will not cry._

"How are you today, Cerise?" Harpsichord asks.

"Great," I lie. I expect her to bombard me with more pointless questions, but, luckily, she leaves it at that.

"Wonderful! Let's pick a lucky boy to join you, shall we?"

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

I catch Rhiannon's eye a ways away. She gives me the thumbs up and flashes me a reassuring smile. I turn back toward the stage and try not to get too nervous. What are the chances I'll be picked anyway?

"Erik Nordskov!" Harpsichord cries.

"Right here!" I shout, raising my hand.

 _Aw, rats! Aw, ratsratsratsratsrats!_

"And how are you, Erik?" Harpsichord asks.

"Wonderful. Can't wait to go into the games," I reply quickly.

"That's the spirit of the games!" she says with a smile. "I give you the tributes of District 7!"

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

"Make sure to be careful," Uncle Jon advises.

"Yep. I know I should be careful," I reply matter-of-factly.

"Get yourself some allies," he continues.

"Okay. I know I should be getting some allies."

Uncle Jon and Aunt Wren just stare at me like it's the first time they've seen me in ten years. An awkward silence hangs in the air. I try to think of something to say to break the silence, but every time I open my mouth to speak my tongue gets tied up and I can't say anything.

Odelia comes in afterward. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she still has the same playful smile plastered across her face.

"Funny." That's the only word she says at first.

"Excuse me?"

"Just act funny. You're funny. If the Capitol sees that, the sponsors will go crazy. Remember that they want compelling characters. Nothing's worse for your odds of winning than fading into the background."

A thought crosses my mind of the twenty-three other tributes being swarmed by Capitolites while I sit in a dark corner like I don't exist. And, frankly, that thought terrifies me.

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

Dad speeds into the Justice Building with Mom close behind him. It takes them a few seconds to catch their breaths before they start speaking.

"I think I speak for the both of us when I say we're really going to miss you when you're gone," Dad says, his voice full of affection.

"I'm going to miss you guys too," I say. "But don't worry. I'll be home before you know it."

My parents make their goodbyes short. I think they understand that I want some time alone with Rhiannon.

Rhiannon stumbles into the room sobbing loudly. Her cheeks are raw from crying.

I wrap my arms tightly around her. "There, there. Everything's going to be alright."

"But… what if… you could die…"

"Nobody said I was going to die," I say shortly. "Just don't plan our wedding too much while I'm gone. I want to have a say in some of it."

"Yes, our wedding," Rhiannon says quietly, seemingly lost in thought as she stares at her ring, and then at mine.

"I love you, Erik. And I know you can come home," Rhiannon says.

We lean in for the kiss.

* * *

 **Thank you to Sparky She-Demon for Erik and AnotherDawnLikeOurFlag for Cerise. Please tell me how I'm doing!**

 **Question 1: How many pictures of her parents does Cerise have in her house?**

 **Question 2: What color are Rhiannon's eyes?**


	9. District 8 Reapings

**District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

District 8 always looks ugliest the morning of the reaping. That's really saying something. When Hunger Games time comes around each year and I get to see the reapings from each district, I can't help but envy their clear-blue skies and fresh sunshine. There's no denying that District 8 is ugly. It's an urban district, with factories puffing evil black smoke into the skies. Barely a blade of grass in sight.

School is being let out early today so we all have time to get ready for the reaping. The second the school bell rings, students start pouring out onto the turf. I find my brother Calico quickly. His blazing red hair could probably be seen from a mile away. He sure has the hair of the Weaver family.

"Calico!" I shout, scooping him up in my arms. "How was your day at school?"

"It was great," he replies with a goofy smile.

"What did you learn?" I ask as we start walking home.

"Multiplication," Calico says.

"Really? Multiplication?"

Calico nods quickly. "You can test me!"

I place my finger on my chin as if lost in thought. "Six times five."

"Thirty!" Calico answers quickly, giggling.

"Good! Four times eight."

"Thirty-two!"

"You really are good at this," I say, impressed.

"Mrs. Melcher says I'm the best in the class," Calico boasts just as our house comes into sight. Someone may well think that the house had been run over multiple times by tornadoes. But it's actually one of the roomier places District 8 has to offer. At least we're not living in the slums.

"What should we eat for lunch?" I ask, steering Calico through the creaky front door.

"Let's have strawberry bread. My favorite!" he requests, giggling.

His laughter seems to make the sun a little bit warmer than it was a few seconds ago. The grey sky seems to get a little clearer. It's incredible how laughter makes such an ugly world so beautiful.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

I've always loved yarn. I love everything about it—the way it stretches, falls, and frays at the ends. I used to visit Dad's yarn spinning business after school to watch him throw the colors onto the loom and spin the hues and shades of a thousand rainbows into his creations.

Jute and I sprint across the gravel pathway, picking up dust behind us. Pieces of yarn and string litter the ground every few feet. They've long since stopped trying to clean it up.

"I'm faster than you!" Jute boasts playfully, speeding ahead of me.

"Oh, no, you don't!" I repute as my legs thunder forward. He curses as I overtake him. Jute stumbles on a rock and is frozen for a few seconds—the few seconds I need to build up a decent head start. By the time Jute regains his footing, next to all of his hopes of winning the race have vanished.

"Alright, you win," Jute admits, slowing down to catch his breath.

But I keep running. "Don't give up this early. Keep on running!"

But something catches my eye that makes me screech to a halt. The white flash of a peacekeeper's uniform can be seen from nearby. He strolls toward us angrily, looking suspicious.

"What are you two kids up to?" he demands grumpily.

"We were just, um…" my brain comes to a standstill and the flow of words stops. Help.

"Going to my house to get into our reaping clothes," Jute finishes.

The peacekeeper pauses. "Well, make it quick, the reaping's in half an hour!"

"We will. Sir," I add, voice quivering.

He grunts and shoos us aside.

Jute starts talking again as soon as the peacekeeper is out of earshot.

"He sounded funny. Like a duck," Jute says, imitating the peacekeeper's voice by plugging his nose.

"You know, I'm not supposed to say stuff against the peacekeepers, but, I agree," I admit with a laugh.

* * *

 **District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

Tilsee Marrow doesn't look like an escort. Her hair is a natural dark-brown and her face looks almost completely clean of plastic surgery. It's when Tilsee opens her mouth that everyone can tell how Capitol-made she really is.

"Are we ready for the reaping, District 7?" Tilsee bellows, stressing the first letter of every word as if trying to drown out the rest of the sentence.

There aren't any whistles or cheers, but a few polite people clap.

"Good!" she screams. Tilsee reads the Treaty of Treason. Luckily, she's straightforward and starts to the girls' reaping bowl without any further ado.

"I would like to welcome to the stage… the female tribute from District 8… the very lucky…"

The silence in the square gets even more complete with each phrase that leaves Tilsee's mouth.

"Twilla Weaver!"

For an instant, I'm so shocked that I can't even move. I feel a pressure behind my eyes. It isn't hard to guess that tears are coming. I try to hold them back, but it's impossible. The entirety of District 8 stares at me pitifully as I sob into my arm, unable to talk for terror.

When I finally get to the stage, Tilsee wraps her arms tightly around me.

"Very well. Are you all ready for me to pick a male?"

The people of District 8 don't reply, which Tilsee evidently takes as a yes.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

"Caden Yarnn!"

I am going to die. A part of my mind is telling me that there's I chance I can come home, but the rest of my thoughts smother it out completely in a few seconds. I'm just not good enough! There'll be boys twice my size. Boys who know seventy ways to kill you with a knife. I bite the inside of my cheek to distract myself as I make the walk to the stage.

"Welcome, Caden," Tilsee gushes. "How are you?"

"Wonderful," I answer shortly.

"Fantastic. Happy Hunger Games!"

* * *

 **District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

Button throws her arms around me, sobbing into my shirt. "Oh, man, I'm going to miss you," she says.

"It's alright." I pat her on the shoulder. "It's not like if for sure going to die."

"You could have waited for one of the other girls to volunteer for you," Button mumbles.

"That would be messed up," I tell her. "And it's not like I'm completely idiotic. I have a pretty rational head on my shoulders."

My family comes in next. Mom and Dad stand in front, with Calico behind. Calico grabs onto my shirt and cries into it while my parents smile sadly. Neither of them cries. I don't mention this, though. That would just make the already heavy situation even heavier.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

Mom, Dad, and Lacey speed into the Justice Building faster than I thought was possible, slamming the door behind them. Lacey cries into her teddy bear while Mom and Dad wrap their arms around me.

"Wow. Wow. You're… wow," Dad says, like his brain is trying to reject the situation. "You're going into the Hunger Games."

 _I'm going to die,_ I silently add.

"But you can win," Mom says. "I know you can. Just remember to fight smarter, not harder."

 _I can't win,_ a voice inside of me says. She must know that.

As my family turns to leave, I catch Lacey's eye. There's nothing I can say now that will make either of us happier. So I just give her a short smile.

* * *

 **Here is District 8. Thanks to jjjr7301 for Twilla and Smiley for Caden!**

 **Question 1: What is Calico's favorite food?**

 **Question 2: What kind of business does Caden's father own?**


	10. District 9 Reapings

**District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-**

I can still smell the warm summer breeze that rustled through the trees that day. The day my father died.

I can still feel my five-year-old arms swinging at my sides.

The first half of the day my father died was great. It was a tradition that I got to choose my breakfast every year on my birthday. There was little question what I would pick. My mom's waffles were my favorite food in the world, and they were the breakfast I picked whenever I had a choice.

Mom and I were sitting around the table and laughing when the phone rang. Mom got up and answered it. Even though I didn't know what was going on, the horrified look on my mother's face was enough to tell me that it was bad. Really bad.

"Get on your shoes, Harper," Mom said, shaking madly and looking like she was about to cry. My mom never acted like that.

We both got onto our bicycles and drove half a mile to Dad's farm. The farm was probably my favorite place in the world. I loved to feed the hens and roosters and watch him cut the grain with his sickle.

When the bright-red barn came into sight, I screeched to a halt. The wheels of the bike were misaligned, and the bike wobbled a bit before stopping completely. Right away, I knew something bad had happened. Where was Dad's jolly voice welcoming us to his farm? Where was the clucking of the chickens? Where was the roar of the tractors?

The door of the barn swung open. I smiled as wide as the moon, expecting to see my dad. But it wasn't Dad that came out. It was Aunt Kate. She was my father's brother. She lived far away and never came to our place unless something bad had happened.

Aunt Kate told us the bad news through tears. My father was dead. He had been riding his tractor when he toppled sideways and fell off. In his descent, he had pulled the steering wheel sharply to one side. He couldn't move out of the way fast enough before the tractor bowled him over.

I remember thundering all the way back home on my bike and locking myself in my room. The smell of the half-eaten waffles from downstairs was beautiful. My father was dead. Nothing should have been beautiful.

Everyone said the wounds would heal with time. But, seven years later, I remember everything as clearly as if it were yesterday.

"How much longer, Anna?" I shout.

"Shouldn't be longer than a few more minutes," she replies, coasting down the hill.

"You said this would be a short ride." I put my bicycle into high gear to build up more speed.

"Yeah, I lied," she admits, a laugh tumbling from her lips.

Suddenly, a road comes into view. I hurriedly pull on the breaks. The wheels of the bike must be misaligned again, because it wobbles back and forth for a few moments before finally stopping. Just like it happened the day my dad died…

It feels like I've been punched in the stomach, and before I know it I'm on the ground. Memories of my father's death come rushing back. I can't breathe. I can't think. I can't see straight.

"Harper! Harper!" Anna shouts with panic. She can't be more than five feet away, but it feels like a million miles.

"Deep breaths!" She inhales deeply through her nose to demonstrate.

I inhale through my noise and slowly out through my mouth, instantly making me feel calmer.

"Are you ready to get back up?" Harper asks.

"I think so," I reply, shakingly taking her hand.

"Thanks for that… for helping we whenever the memories come back."

"It's nothing. But we'd better hurry if we want to get good spots at the reaping!"

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

I dig the teeth of the rake into the damp earth. Using both my legs and arms for strength, I drag the tiller across the earth. Once this whole area is tilled, the farmers will come in and sprinkle the grain around with their big machines. For now, I'm just a slave to people born richer than me.

I stand up and wipe a layer of sweat from my forehead. A shrill whistle pierces the silence. It's time for lunch.

I set down my rake and jog to The Hub. The Hub is a huge wooden building in the center of the grain field. Apparently it used to a wheat storehouse, but now it's where we go to eat lunch. I melt into the crowd of people to pour into the building. It's stifling hot inside, and with so many cramped into such a small place I can't help looking forward to going back out into the wide, open field.

"Luc!" a familiar voice says from behind me. I turn around sharply. My father has eyes that can tell you his entire personality with no words at all. He's loyal and caring and a protector. I couldn't ask for a better Dad.

"How's the work treating you?" Dad asks as we get in line for our noon meal.

"Fine. Tilling the soil is as _thrilling_ as ever," I answer.

"Really? The heat isn't bothering you?" Dad insists.

"Come on, Dad. A little optimism can't hurt. We're not starved yet."

The line moves up a few feet. "Wow! You're tanned!" Dad remarks as though it's the first time he's noticed.

"Yep. Pretty much impossible not to be with how much time we spend outside," I explain.

"You're a great son, Luc. The best son I could ask for," Dad says, his voice overflowing with affection. His lips turn up slightly, revealing a smile. But it's a sad smile that reflects only despair. I don't say anything. It's hard to find things to be happy about in District 9.

* * *

 **District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-**

Yeliza Shale is a lady who likes to listen to herself talk. Once she finally stops her babbling, I'm actually glad once she starts her journey to the girls' reaping bowl.

"Harper Lamb!" Yeliza reads.

It feels like a wave of cold water has splashed over me, squeezing the air out of my lungs and obscuring my vision. The shock is indescribable. Every thought my brain forms is cut short by another, like a television being flipped quickly between channels.

It takes a long time to reach the Justice Building. It's not just because the twelve-year-olds are the farthest from the stage. I'm procrastinating all of the questions that Yeliza is going to ask me.

"Got any pets, Harper dear?" Yeliza asks.

"Nope. But I'd like a cat someday," I answer.

"Oh, cats are lovely. My friend owns three of them. Do you play any instruments?"

"I play flute for the school band."

The interrogation seems to go on forever. Sweet relief crashes over me when she finally sets down the microphone and starts toward the boys' reaping ball.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

The reaped girl fidgets nervously on the stage. I'd be lying if I said she isn't something to look at. With her short, curly brown hair and deep brown eyes, I can already imagine sponsors putting their bets on her. Though she looks young, possibly even twelve. People that young almost never win the games.

Yeliza fishes her hand into the boys' reaping bowl and snatches out a tightly-folded slip of paper. The square draws in a collective breath.

"Luc Everett!"

My legs move me to the stage. But I don't feel like I'm moving them. All I'm thinking about is what it feels like to die.

"How are you today, Luc?" Yeliza asks.

"Great," I lie.

"Do you think you can win?"

"Yes."

"What are you most looking forward to in the Capitol?"

"The food."

"What about the lights at night?"

"Those too."

From the opposite side of the microphone, Harper gives me a reassuring smile, like she knows my pain.

* * *

 **District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-**

"Holy crapkittens, girl! You're going into the game with Luc Everett!"

"I know, I'm so lucky, right?" I say, but it's more of a joke than anything else. I'm the most unlucky person in the room.

"That boy is super cute," Anna continues. "I'll never forgive you if you don't smooch him at least once in the Capitol."

"Oh, shut up!" I shout playfully. We both laugh.

Izzi Jo has a very different method of saying goodbye.

"You have to show off to the Capitol," Izzi Jo says purposefully. "They want a good show. That's all they want. Be the most relevant character and there's no way you can't win."

"You hear that?" Izzi Jo shouts, flashing a rather obscene gesture to the nearest camera. "You just want a stupid…"

"Shhhh!" I say, shoving my hand over her mouth. "You can't say that in here!"

Izzi Jo has been rebellious for as long as I can remember. It's probably a miracle she's not been arrested thus far. I wish I could be as fearless as her.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

Lewis and Lance sprint into the Justice Building together, their footsteps echoing around the tiled room.

"I'm sorry I didn't volunteer," Lance says, his body shaking with sobs. "I mean, I would have, but…"

"It's fine," I say. "I can handle this by myself."

"You've got to make it home!" Lewis urges. He doesn't cry. He just stares at me with wide, tired eyes. I know how he feels. The world really is an unfair place.

* * *

 **This is the longest chapter yet! A huge thank you to QueensDoItBetter for both of these tributes :D**

 **Question 1: What is the name of Harper's aunt?**

 **Question 2: What instrument is played in Luc's field to signal it is time for lunch?**


	11. District 10 Reapings

**District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

The thing I hate most about the other girls in District 10 is that they complain about things they have no right to complain about. Noor complains about mosquitoes and Finch finds the fault in cloudy days while my doctor tells me that I most likely will never hear a single sound in my life.

It's not like I'm never unhappy with my life in District 10. The ranch always looks depressing, even on the beautiful summer day that happens to be the reaping. A gentle breeze blows, carrying a scent of cow manure and rotten hay. I stick the shovel into the ground and sit cross-legged on the sun-baked earth. Sweat runs down my forehead. Wow. Why can't the Capitol treat us better than this? They literally throw up food just to stuff down more when people are starving in all twelve districts.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and whip around, shocked.

"It's just you, Joru," I sign.

"Yep. Just me," he signs back. "This can be my reaping gift for you."

Joru reaches into his bag and pulls out an entire loaf of bread. But it's not just any loaf of bread. It's dark and rich and filled with nuts and seeds. My mouth waters at the sight.

"Where did you get that?" I sign.

"It turns out that Farmer Rella sometimes leaves out gifts for us poor guys when he leaves his post for bathroom breaks," Joru answers, laughing. I've always wondered what laughter sounds like. It's just one of the million things.

I take the loaf from him. "You want to eat part of it?" I ask, my hands flying in front of me to create the signs.

"Nope. You can have the whole thing. It's a present," Joru answers.

"You really are a good friend," I compliment as my teeth dig into the dark, moist bread.

"Put it away quick! One of the overseers is coming!" Joru warns.

I shove the bread into his bag. The overseer looks at us suspiciously. He looks like he wants to punish us, but apparently decides we're not worth this time and turns the other way.

"I've always wanted to do something to show them I'm not under their control. The Capitol can't just keep pushing us around the way they do," I sign with spite.

"Good luck with that," Joru signs. "We can't even take a two minute break under a tree without being flogged."

Anger boils through me. The Capitol has no right to treat us the way they do. I'll show them we're more than their slaves if it's the last thing I do.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

Blood is a beautiful color. I find myself almost hypnotized by the deep scorching red that twists itself into vibrant black when it dries. Being a butcher, I come into contact with a whole lot of blood on a daily basis.

A bell rings at the front door. A rather lanky gentleman comes inside and shivers from the rain. He shakes his umbrella outside before wrapping his arms around himself to get warm.

"It sure is raining hard out there," he remarks. "Do you think they'll have to reschedule the reaping?"

"I don't think so," I reply with the peppery attitude I always use to talk to customers. "Past reapings have gone on through a lot worse than a rainstorm."

The man approaches the service counter.

"Can I have a boneless beef sirloin?" he requests.

"How will that be cooked?"

He squints his eyes to read the prices on the display. "Broiled."

"Coming right up."

"Buck!" I call. Buck pokes his head in from the back. "We need a broiled boneless beef sirloin."

"Got it."

Buck ties back his loose hair with a rubber band and snatches up a nearby cleaver and serrated knife. He pulls a plastic bag from the back room and lifts out a slab of stone-cold beef. Buck plants his serrated knife into the chunk of beef and pulls out a small piece. He hacks it in half using his cleaver, puts in on a plate, and tosses it into the oven.

"It'll be thirty minutes, sir," I tell the man ordering. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Yes, please," he answers, sinking down into one of the chairs. He grabs one of the ancient magazines and reads intently.

I stroll to the back of the shop, where Buck is re-sealing the bag of beef. "Do you think the rain is going to clear up in time for the reaping?"

"I don't know," Buck replies thoughtfully. "But I hope so. It'd suck to stand in the cold rain the whole time. I hope we don't have a talkative escort this year."

I nod my head in agreement.

Sighing, I sink down onto a nearby wooden stool and stare out the window at the summer rainstorm.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

Felicity Rama, District 10's escort, does clearly not like the rain. She wears a frown on her face as she holds her umbrella firmly over her head, muttering about how the wind is messing with her hair. Her spring-green suit is covered with drops.

"I suppose it's time to pick a girl," Felicity says. "Better get this whole thing over with in this dreadful weather."

Felicity plunges her hand into the girls' reaping ball and snatches the first slip she encounters. She clearly wants to finish as quickly as possible, because she reads the name the second she reaches the microphone. I watch her lips carefully. I'm not the best at lip-reading, but there's no mistaking the name that she reads off.

"Mavvi Levist!"

I take a few steps forward, glaring at Felicity. I think about how this has to be a joke. But I don't freak out like other girls have. Red-hot anger rolls through my chest. I try to think rationally but can't think of anything but how angry I am. Felicity rests a hand on my shoulder as I stand beside her. I flick her hand off me, recoiling.

"Okay, then. Mavvi is officially our female tribute. Let's have a round of applause!"

The sick thing is that some people clap.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

Mavvi looks like one cold girl. Her thick black hair whips behind her as she stands on the stage, her hands lying limply at her side. When I look up at the screen I can see her dark eyes focused on the camera, a hate so strong inside of them.

"Time to pick a boy now," Felicity says quickly as she glides toward the boys' reaping ball.

"Orford Shaw!"

I straighten my shirt and smile. Trying to ignore the pit forming in my chest, I walk quickly to the stage. If I give the Capitol a good first impression, I'm bound to get their attention, right?

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

My mom and dad come to say goodbye first. They wrap their arms around me and say that they love me. But I don't reply. I'm so furious that I can't think straight. I just stare at them coldly with my jaw set and lips formed into a solid line.

Joru walks into the Justice Building next. Something about him snaps me out of my trance.

"I was so scared you'd get reaped," I sign.

"Don't worry. I'm fine."

"I'm just so mad, Joru. So _mad_. What if I can't control it and I do something stupid in the Capitol?"

Joru sighs. "Just remember what you have to come home to."

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

Mom pulls me into a suffocating hug. She whispers all of these words to me. That it's going to be alright. That I just have to remember ends bring new beginnings. I pull away from her.

"You guys don't have to act like this," I say, surprised by how cocky I sound. "I'm not going to die."

"Don't be afra…"

"I'm not afraid," I say quickly. "I'll win."

When they leave, I lie back on the couch and imagine what being a victor would be like. I can't help but feel ashamed when I imagine living in a warm house full of food while the rest of District 10 is dirt-poor. Then I think about my job, working as a butcher with Buck. The thought of never wearing my apron again makes me more than a little sad.

* * *

 **Thank you for all of your reviews. Only two reapings left to go! Thanks to InfinityBook for Mavvi and jjjr7301 for Orford :D**

 **Question 1: What is Mavvi's hair color?**

 **Question 2: What does Orford's co-worker Buck use to tie back his hair?**


	12. District 11 Reapings

**District 11: Adelia Faye (15) Pov-**

The best thing about District 11 is that it always smells like a mixture of coffee, pineapple, and summer rain. Rows of crops glisten in the warm summer sun and rustle in the breeze. You'd think we live in paradise, not in District 11.

I eat my small breakfast in silence as I gaze out of the window at the sea of crops. My family chatters behind me. By the sounds of their voices, it's Atticus and Dariela, my siblings. Mom and Dad must still be sleeping. Yesterday was a big day of work and they must be exhausted.

"Are you nervous for the reaping?" Atticus asks.

I set down my spoon and watch it sink into the porridge before turning around.

"No. District 11 is the second largest district in Panem. Pretty much no chance of being reaped."

"Fourth largest," Dariela corrects. "But still."

Once I've scraped out my porridge bowl and eaten my small piece of bread, I push away from the table and walk to the sink. I can't help but feel peeved that the water doesn't work for me to clean out my bowl. It's not like I wasn't expecting this. We only get a few hours of water and power a day if we're lucky. But I've always had a bad habit of getting impatient when things don't go my way. Makes me sound like a jerk now that I think about it.

I set down the bowl and spoon in the basin and sink down onto the couch next to Dariela. In the few moments I was gone, Dariela has pulled out a textbook and pencil and is making notes on a small piece of paper.

"Seriously?" Atticus demands. "Studying the morning of the reaping?"

Dariela makes an annoyed face. "It's my last year of school. I don't want to end on a sour note by failing my exams."

When you compare us to some other siblings that go to our school, our age gap is massive. Dariela was the firstborn. I was born four years later. Atticus was born eight years after me. That means that Dariela is nineteen while Atticus is only seven. People sometimes give us weird looks when we tell them we're all siblings. But I've never minded. In a way, it makes us unique.

The little clock in the corner chimes once.

"The reaping's in an hour," I pronounce. "Better get going."

When I walk to my small room to put on my reaping clothes, I can't help the pit forming in my stomach. The fear from being the only person in my house eligible for the reaping is indescribable. It's all I can do to tell myself that it'll be over soon and I'll be back home safe and sound tonight with my family.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, sweat running down my face from the stifling heat. I've always hated the doctor's office in District 11. The small and crowded building is probably the place with the most bad memories attached to it.

A child screams from one of the check-up rooms.

This is getting really bad. I know it's crazy but I have this thought of the walls coming in to crush me. Closed spaces are not exactly my cup of tea.

Relief washes over me at the white flash of a doctor's uniform. Dr. Roth walks into the waiting room, holding a clipboard. He calls for Patient Cora Veldt. Cora, Mom, Dad, Acker, Avis, and I get up at once and file into one of the patient rooms.

"How are you all today?" he asks, gently closing the door behind him.

"Good," we say in unison.

We seat ourselves as Cora sits down on the patient bed. Cora's had her illness ever since she was born. Ever since, it's been getting progressively worse. It's a curable disease, but one that can cost crazy amounts of money to treat. More than we have. Saving up all of our money has allowed us to get her one doctor visit a year.

Dr. Roth checks her reflexes, blood pressure, and those kinds of things. The rest of us stay quiet, sitting with wide eyes in the corner of the room. The patient room is much less crowded than the waiting room, but still not big enough for me to feel at ease. Even someone without real claustrophobia would surely feel uncomfortable in here.

I drum my foot up and down against the carpet as the doctor starts administering more tests. He hands Cora a thick solution or something that's supposed to increase levels of something somewhere inside her.

I try to listen, but the doctor is talking so quietly that I can't hear him. At one point, he uses a needle to pull something bad out of her blood. Cora hisses and starts crying out that it hurts. There's nothing I can do about it, but seeing my sister in pain isn't neccesarily something I can just watch without feeling awful inside.

We leave quickly after the appointment is over. Dr. Roth has lots more patients and we don't want to stick around in the horrible building. It's the best feeling in the world when I'm finally outside in the open.

And a thought runs through my head that I can't take any more of life's lemons. I know there's a way I can help Cora. I can cure her. But it would certainly be risky...

* * *

 **District 11: Adelia Faye (15) Pov-**

I'm pretty sure that if Marble Hydra's hair was any longer, it would be too heavy for her to carry. Her long red locks easily go down to her waist. Pink and purple threads are woven into her tresses.

"How's it going, District 11?" Marble bellows.

Silence.

"Wonderful," she says quickly.

Marble reads the Treaty of Treason and then approaches the girls' reaping ball.

"Adelia Faye!"

No, no, no. What on earth? How is it me? These games are horrible! I stand rooted the spot, unable to move for shock.

The first tear slips, and I have no choice but to move. I break into a run, trying to focus on how my hair rustles behind me. I've managed to stop crying by the time I reach the microphone, but I'm still shaking fiercely.

Luckily, Marble isn't one to dilly-dally. She zips toward the boys' reaping ball faster than I can wonder what boy will be joining me in the games.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I think back to the hours I spent poring over this decision. It'll be dangerous, but I'm sure it's the right one. Cora would do the same for me.

"Harris Newfind!" Marble shouts.

I raise my hand into the air. "I volunteer!"

Someone blindfolded nearby might well think that Marble had just won the lottery. She leaps back and forth, shaking and laughing. Her hair waves behind her. I can't blame her. Her job must be boring and she must be excited beyond belief to finally have a volunteer after so many years.

"Can you give us a name, dear?"

"Jaro Veldt."

"Spectacular! Well done, Jaro!"

Marble requests a round of applause. The response is rather pathetic, but her mood does not seem to be diminished at all.

"I give you the tributes of District 11!"

* * *

 **District 11: Adelia Faye (15) Pov-**

Mom and Dad look distraught when they enter the Justice Building, their hands on Atticus' shoulder.

I can't stop the tears that start running down my cheeks.

"I don't want to die, Mom!"

"Nobody said you were going to die, sweetie. You don't have to be trained to win the games," Mom reassures me.

"But it helps," I say, finding my tone sour.

"Remember that boy last year that just hid and survived? He made it to the final three."

"Yep. And then he died."

"Don't be so pessimistic, sweetie. I know you can win the games. Just never forget how much your family loves you."

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I can't help but notice the angry expression on my parents' faces when they stand in front of me.

"Why?" they ask as one.

"Because… because Cora… sick…" I stammer. I swallow hard and find my voice. "You know how much money those victors bring in. We might finally be able to afford her treatment."

Dad sighs and kneels in front of me.

"Jaro. Son. I love Cora very much. But she has many angels looking out for her. You're the best son I could ask for, and… I could never forgive myself if you didn't come home."

* * *

 **Holy cow! 100 reviews! You're all the best. Thanks to CandleFire45 for Adelia and Writer207 for Jaro :D**

 **Question 1: What three things does District 11 always smell like?**

 **Question 2: What phobia does Jaro suffer from?**


	13. District 12 Reapings

**District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

I wake up before the sun. If I want plenty of time to gather breakfast, I have to have the element of darkness on my side. I slip out of bed into my shoes that are several sizes too small but have molded to my feet. I tiptoe past Mom and Dad, Willow, Cal, Nash, and Ali. Then I'm out the front door.

The white flash of a peacekeeper's uniform startles me. A closer look tells me that he's circling around a nearly block of houses. I duck down into the shadows and wait until he's out of sight before moving on. The last snares I set aren't far away. I should easily be back home in twenty minutes, if not ten or fifteen.

Before I know it, I've come to the first snare. It holds a wriggling chipmunk in its clutches. My hands reach for the knife in my pocket like I've done this a million times before. The thing is, I have. I quickly kill the chipmunk and drop it into my bag.

I continue to follow the line of snares, collecting grouse and snakes and squirrels and whatever they've collected over the night. The meadows of District 12 teem with life. It's no surprise that almost all of my traps have caught one animal or another.

My ponytail barely touches my back as I make the journey home. I have to break into a run when the first golden rays of sunlight illuminate the slum houses of District 12 that are falling apart. But, luckily, I reach home before anybody sees me. I've gotten great at treading quietly over the years if I do say so myself.

Mom, Dad, and Willow are already up by the time I get home. Willow is chopping up leaves and tossing them into a bowl. Dad's face, coated with coal dust, looks tired and exhausted as he quickly cleans dishes. But Mom is the worst of all. I know how much she hates Reaping Day. Two of her sisters have died in the games, and she was lucky not to be the third.

"Good morning," I say softly, so as not to wake Cal, Nash, and Ali. None of them is over seven and they need all the sleep they can get for the big day ahead.

"I have a surprise," I continue. I set down my bag. The sides fall down and reveal the game inside. Mom looks like she's about to faint.

"How did you… but… where… you…"

"Happy Reaping Day," I say simply. We're going to have a huge breakfast this morning, that's for sure.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

Life in the community home really isn't so bad. There's always a warm bed to sleep in and plenty of other kids to talk to. And always someone to play a good prank on.

Someone knocks on the door. I know right away who it is. It's a weird talent I've always possessed.

"Come in, Smelter."

"Okay, that it just creepy," Smelter says with a goofy smile.

I roll out of bed and fit on my shoes all in the span of five seconds. Then we're both ready to execute our plan.

"Did you get the rope?"

Smelter nods and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a coil of rope. It's thin, but strong. The type we always use.

"And the zip ties?"

He nods once more and pulls out a handful of the small plastic pieces.

We quickly scurry down to the Matron's office. At one point, I spot a worker walking past with a cart. Smelter and I duck down until she passes. She looks our way, but quickly dismisses our shuffling as her imagination and begins to disappear around a nearby corner.

We tiptoe ever so slowly into the Matron's office. By the sound of her rather masculine snores, she's sound asleep in the adjacent room. Smelter hands me a few zip ties. Taking infinite care, we search the room for all of the scissors we can find and zip tie them together. We only leave once we're confident all of the scissors are taken care of.

Smelter and I close the door softly behind us. But before we leave, I tie one end of the rope to the outside doorknob. Smelter ties the other end of the rope to the doorknob of a nearby room. I jump once to wake her up. Then we scram.

"Who is up at this hour?" the Matron demands. We scurry down staircases and through halls, having no goal but to get back to our rooms before she can spot us.

We both know how the rest of the plan will work. She'll realize that her door is tied closed. Then she'll try to find a pair of scissors to cut the rope. But then she'll realize that they're all zip tied closed. And she won't be able to cut the zip ties because the other scissors are also bound together.

"To be honest, that went way more smoothly than I imagined," Smelter remarks as we stop to catch our breath.

"Too bad there weren't any peacekeepers around. That would have been even more amusing."

"We pranked a peacekeeper last time," Hopper says. "And besides, they're not much fun; they're all the same. At least the staff here have varied reactions. You never know what you're going to get."

* * *

 **District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

District 12's escort, Summer Nelson, is just as depressing as District 12 itself. She wears a despondent expression even when she talks about how exciting this year is going to be. With every pause, I find something dreadful about the way she phrases her sentences or how her accent drowns out her words.

"I suppose we'd better pick a female tribute," Summer drones as she saunters toward the girls' reaping ball.

"Remi Gardner."

Cold terror runs through my veins instead of blood. I am going into the Hunger Games! I don't think Mom can take losing another family member. How will my siblings get by without me?

Every fiber of my body is telling me to stay still. But I have no choice. Trying not to shake or cry too much, I break into a brisk walk and start up to the Justice Building.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

"Are you all ready for me to pick a boy tribute?" Summer asks, her voice as monotone as always.

The more the silence wears on, the more tension grows in the air. "Alright," she says, walking to the boys' bowl.

"Hopper Vigo."

I can't help feeling amused as I walk to the stage. I've always wanted to visit the Capitol. From what they show on television, it's a million times more exciting than any of the 12 districts. And with so many people to prank… the possibilities are endless. The thought of death doesn't even cross my mind. A guy's got to die some time. And what is death really but the next great adventure?

If I'm going to go out, I might as well go out with style.

I lean to the right and punch Summer in the face. Lightly, of course. The escort winces and staggers back a few feet.

"Excuse…"

I grab hold of the microphone. "You've just reaped the worst boy in 12!" I scream, my voice amplified into the microphone so I sound like a fire alarm. "Don't expect your lives to be anything short of miserable for the next week!"

I drop the microphone and swagger into the Justice Building, leaving stunned silence behind me.

* * *

 **District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

My family comes to say goodbye all at once. Mom and Dad stand beside each other, Dad holding Cal and Mom cradling Ali. Willow holds Nash with both arms.

"We're all going to miss you very much," Dad says, looking like he's about to cry.

"Don't worry. I'll try to make these games quick."

I start to tell them about my snare traps so they won't starve after I'm gone. But this room is most certainly tapped, so I decide against it.

Willow steps forward. "You're a great sister, and…" her voice is choked by tears. "You have to come home."

None of them say anything about the games themselves. I think they all know deep down that I'd be a miracle if I actually came home with my life.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

"That," Smelter says, patting me on the back. "Was incredible."

"If I win, I should totally run for mayor, right?" I intone.

"Yeah, definitely. The mayor should be a twelve-year-old idiot."

"Hey!" I give him a light punch in the shoulder. "I'd cancel school on Friday. Mandatory party day for everyone!"

"Yep. And the district would be in turmoil every other day of the week," he predicts.

"You'd better not die," Smelter says.

I'm quiet for a moment. "Nah. I'm not going to."

"Okay. Good. I'll see you later, then." Smelter lifts his fingers in a wave before heading out.

* * *

 **There we are! The reapings are now over. Thanks to QueensDoItBetter for Remi and Cragmite Blaster for Hopper. And thank you to everyone who submitted for these wonderful characters!**

 **Question 1: What style is Remi's hair the morning of the reaping?**

 **Question 2: What day of the week would Hopper declare as a party day if he became mayor?**


	14. Reaping Recap

**President Talen Pov-**

I gently shake my glass of wine, watching the brilliant red liquid slosh against the glass sides. The ice cubes glitter in the plethora of lights overhead, slowly melting and watering down the beverage. I take a sip and allow the flavor of the wine to spread over my tongue.

I set down the glass and pick up my remote. At the press of a button, the shimmering holographic screen is summoned into existence. I make out the elegant columns of District 1's Justice Building. Tall snowy mountains loom in the distance, their tops lost in mist. I notice how finely dressed the citizens are. It's true that District 1 is the richest area of Panem with the exception of the Capitol itself.

Sangria Ashworth is certainly a looker more than anything. She winks at the cameras and the boys in the audience and makes flirty poses on the stage. I have to admit that she is rather beautiful, with her dark-blonde hair and brilliant green eyes. But she does seem like an airhead.

Declan Benitoit looks like a healthy and strong career. He runs confidently and quickly up the stage and doesn't fool around once he's there. I can't help but notice a small scar on his wrist. But that's nothing out of the ordinary. Loads of career tributes have scars.

District 2 comes into view. Ranges of tall, dangerous-looking mountains loom on the horizon. In the other direction, flat and rocky hills roll away into oblivion.

Jaehaera Blackfyre leaves me with my mouth gaping. In her journey to the stage, she does a marshal arts move to break the leg of another volunteer girl. The girl spirals backward, hissing with pain, and it's hard not to notice the odd shape of her leg. Jaehaera herself certainly has some kind of hidden motivation, as she seems to place great purpose into every step.

Nero Ryker is evidently one to get a job done as soon as possible. He darts to the stage the instant the name is called and doesn't dilly-dally when the escort asks him for his name. The boy doesn't show much emotion on the steps. He must be a boy great at hiding his feelings. That could prove valuable in the games.

The land of District 3 is mostly flat, with small houses, buildings, and hills punctuating the plain. A heavy row of factories lies nearby, all lying still and silent.

Pixel Watt is a puny twelve-year old. She is so small it's not a stretch to compare her to a single pixel itself. Most twelve-year-olds break down and cry when they're reaped, but this girl is an exception. She doesn't seem that shocked when her name is picked and walks to the stage calmly. She might look a little amused.

Joule Merchiers takes a few steps toward the escort. Then a young boy bursts out of the crowd and wraps his arms around him, begging him not to go. But Joule says that he has to go, and two peacekeepers have to pry the young boy off of him before he can finish his journey to the stage. He's another youngster, looking to be thirteen or fourteen.

I can practically smell the salty sea air as District 4 comes into view. Seagulls fly overhead, and the dirt underfoot is swirled with sand to create visually appealing patterns and designs.

Dory Krillgood has no reaction at all when her name is first picked. Neither do I. I allow myself a sip of wine as I wait for the female volunteer to step up. But the volunteer is nowhere to be seen, and Dory takes her spot as a tribute whether she likes it or not. She seems to be another very young tribute. Hopefully her district partner is a strong boy to counteract her meager form.

Cyan Costas goes through the exact same process as his district partner, step for step. His name is reaped, and he just stands unaffected, waiting for the male volunteer to step forward. As the silence wears on, Cyan is forced to walk to the stage. Whispers break out from the crowd. Where are the chosen volunteers? I barely have time to ponder an answer before the screen switches to the next district.

My first impression of District 5 is: hot! The boiling sun overhead beats down on the earth. Many District 5 citizens sweat and wipe the liquid from their foreheads. A massive dam towers over the rest of the district, powered by a wide and rushing river.

Adelaide Hampton looks steely as she walks to the stage. She looks so focused on the tasks at hand that she can't spare any room for thoughts about death or all of the things she may never see again. The girl takes deep breaths, shoves her hands in her pocket—she's evidently one who knows how to control her emotions.

Arthur Wattson is a boy who thinks he can outsmart the Capitol. The cameras zoom in on his face. Once his name is reaped, the boy stays still. He must be hoping nobody will know it's him. But another boy taps him on the shoulder and rats him out to the escort, and the boy has no choice but to thunder to the stage furiously. There's no denying that Arthur is a grump. That could easily spell his doom in the games.

District 6 is one of the more beautiful districts thus far. Shining silver trains are parked in stations along train tracks. I spot a flash of silver lake in the distance. Boats are docked at the edges of the lake, bobbing gently over the waves.

Lexus Beltran is the most terrified tribute yet, and understandably so. She collapses to the ground when she is reaped, gasping and shaking as her dirty-blonde hair fans out behind her. I notice a young girl sobbing several rows back. By how similar in appearance she is to Lexus, she must be her sister.

One look at Lincoln Blitz tells me that he's an orphan. His clothes are dirty and tattered. When Lincoln is reaped, a nearby boy grabs his wrist and mutters that he can volunteer for him. But the boy wiggles out of his friend's grasp and walks briskly to the stage. He doesn't cry, but he certainly does shake. There's no doubt that he's terrified.

The scenery of District 6 fades into a very different landscape. I immediately recognize it as District 7. Tall trees, grown perfectly parallel, march across the earth in tight forests surrounding the Justice Building and the square. I can almost smell sawdust and felled trees as the camera pans over the forests and lakes of the district.

Cerise Yew has a friend who doesn't stops talking through the entire reaping. Several girls nearby give her nasty looks, telling her to stop, but the girl takes no hints. It's a few seconds after Cerise is reaped that she realizes the name belongs to her. Her eyes turn red. Smartly, she walks as quickly as she can to the steps before she can cry, appearing lost in thought.

Erik Nordskov raises his hand and alerts everybody to his position as soon as he is reaped. It's only as he melts of the crowd that the situation sinks in. The boy is going into the Hunger Games. Once on the stage, Erik glances toward a rather attractive young lady in the girls' section. I can't help but notice their identical rings. They must be engaged.

It's a smoggy sky and crowd of grey slum buildings that I see when the screen switches to District 8. Almost every building is a factory, but they all are silent. All of the workers are at the reaping.

Twilla Weaver is one pathetic girl. Her bright red hair ripples behind her as she walks to the stage, giving the impression that her head is on fire. She cries into her arm and doesn't stop even when the District 8 escort approaches the boys' reaping ball.

Caden Yarnn looks like he's summoning every ounce of his willpower to keep from crying. He pulls in the inside of his cheek as he starts to the stage. He looks like yet another weakling, and I can't imagine him surviving long.

It's no surprise when a swath of gold covers the holographic screen. The camera pans over neat rows of District 9's golden wheat. The sun is shining and the breezes are rustling the grain. It looks like a wonderful day.

Harper Lamb is yet another terrified little twelve-year-old. She stands rooted to her spot, dead still, looking like someone has punched her in the stomach. I can tell that she's lost in deep thought as she trudges to the stage. That just works to make her all the more intriguing and mysterious.

Luc Everett is undoubtedly one of the more handsome guys so far. His windswept blond hair and bright blue eyes are sure to get him lots of sponsors, and he looks muscular and well-built enough. It's hard not to admire how straight he manages to keep his face as the reaping continues.

District 10's reaping is no less entertaining than the nine districts before it. The square is surrounded by rolling green pastures and bright red barns. Cows and sheep graze the area, and the clucking of hens and roosters can be heard.

Mavvi Levist is a girl with eyes as cold as stone. Her arms hang limply at her sides as she stares at the camera, a hatred so strong in her eyes. I only need one glance to tell me that she will be one of the more rebellious tributes in this games. All the same, her fearlessness is respectable.

Orford Shaw straightens his shirt and smiles when his name is reaped. If he is trying to make a good first impression he has most certainly succeeded. His muscular arms swing at his sides as he walks to the stage, and all the while he fixes his eyes on the Justice Building as if it's the only thing in the world.

District 11 is the largest of Panem's districts in terms of size, so it makes since they would have an enormous population. Rows of citizens are packed into the square, shoulder-to-shoulder, staring at the Justice Building with wide, tired eyes.

Adelia Faye opens her mouth to cry out when her name is picked, but she quickly closes it. Her arms and legs twitch involuntarily. She must be trying to walk to the stage, but her mind is holding her back. Finally, she starts crying, and the girl has no choice but to move.

A male tribute is reaped, and a boy shouts "I volunteer!" My empty wine glass falls out of my grasp and lands with a thud in my lap. District 11 almost never has volunteers. I squint my eyes and peer into the screen, wanting to get a good look at the boy. Once he reaches the escort, I learn that his name is Jaro Veldt. Jaro stands far away from his escort and his district partner, as if he's uncomfortable being close to them. I don't pay this much attention. Claustrophobia isn't uncommon.

Last and most certainly least, District 12 comes into focus. The slum houses are caked with coal dust. The coal has found its way under the citizens' nails, into the folds of their skin, into their hair, and anything else they don't have the money or time to regularly clean.

Remi Gardner is one resilient girl. For the tiniest millisecond, she looks as though she wouldn't move an inch in a million years. But she quickly regains herself, swallowing hard and walking to the stage despite looking like she's about to vomit.

Hopper Vigo leaves me with my mouth hanging open in awe. He shoves his escort out of the way and grabs the microphone, a wild glint in his eyes. The sheer nerve! He begins announcing something, but the screen cuts to black before he can finish. They must have edited that part out. If one thing's for sure, it's that that boy needs to be watched closely. He could make for a lot of trouble if he gets out of hand.

* * *

 **I hope this was good! I'm going to try something unique. Everyone who answers this chapter's question will have their name put into a hat. I will then pick a single name at random, and the lucky winner will be awarded 50 sponsor points. You have 48 hours from the posting of this chapter to leave your answer :D**

 **Question: Who is your favorite tribute?**

 **Edit: The contest is now closed. The winner is TheRTA!**


	15. The Train Ride

**District 6: Lexus Beltran (15) Pov-**

Lincoln dives his spoon in the bowl of mashed potato and drops two heaping mounds onto his plate. He adds several scoops of green beans and a pile of carrots and begins shoveling the mountain of food into his mouth.

"You'll get sick if you eat so much," Tulip says, frowning.

"I'm just trying to make up for the last thirteen years of my life," Lincoln explains as he grabs a bread roll.

I scoop up the last of my own mashed potato and stand up to walk to the sink. The world zooms by outside the train, but, even though we're going a zillion miles per hour, I can't feel a thing. There's a good chance this train was manufactured in my home district. How ironic that there's a good chance it's taking me to my death.

"Where's the sink," I ask, showing Tulip my empty plate.

"Excuse me?"

"The sink. I need to clean the dish."

Tulip laughs. "Don't worry about that. The avoxes will come through later and clean up after us."

I can't help the bubble of anger that forms inside of my chest. I can't stand the way she treats the avoxes like slaves.

"No, really. Where's the sink?" I insist, my voice firm.

"Really, just sit down," Tulip demands.

I sink back down into my chair and push my plate to the center of the table. A disgusting crunching sound is heard as Lincoln bites into a piece of turkey, his teeth grinding against the hard bone within.

It's a long time before any of us speak again. My mouth feels dry with guilt at all of the food I have access to while people are starving in all 12 districts.

"What do we have here?" a jolly voice booms from behind.

I whip around. The voice's owner is a young woman I would recognize anywhere. Kasey Slosser has been mentoring District 6 girls for the past two years. The mood instantly lightens in her presence.

"What's your name, sweetie?" Kasey asks with a playful smile.

It takes me a lot longer than it should to realize she's talking to me. "Um… Lexus Beltran. Lexie for short."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lexus. I think it's time to… ope! Look who's here!"

Apollo Reinold strolls into the room, holding a bottle of alcohol. When he sees us, he quickly hides it behind his back. It's no secret that Apollo's an addict, but he's evidently ashamed of it.

"Welcome, new tributes," Apollo says rather grandly.

Kasey chimes in. "Our plan right now is to split you two up and talk strategy with you guys individually. You can discuss later if you want."

Kasey whistles, and two avoxes speed into the room. I can't bear to look at them, so I stand up and walk slowly to Kasey's side.

"Pssst!" I hiss to Lincoln. "Get up!"

He sets down his fork and wipes barbecue sauce from the corners of his mouth. Apollo frowns as Lincoln belches loudly.

"Follow me," Kasey instructs.

I follow her into a train car with a plush purple sofa and light-blue carpet. She invites me to drop down onto the couch. Kasey grabs the remote and flicks on the holographic television. The reaping in District 1 starts playing immediately.

"You're a very courageous girl," Kasey says. "Tell me about yourself." Her tone is calming and motherly.

"I have a mom and dad and sister, Elizabeth."

"I know," Kasey says, nodding.

"How did you know?"

"Well… oh, I shouldn't have said that," Kasey says, blushing guiltily. "Well, they want us mentors to get to know our tributes as well as possible. So they show us the goodbyes."

I feel like I've been punched in the gut. The goodbyes are supposed to be private! I can't help but feel like my privacy has been violated.

Knowing that I'm probably being recorded right now as well, I change the subject to strategy. "If I find a river and it looks clean, should I drink it? What bugs are edible? What colors of fruit?"

"Slow down, kid!" Kasey says, taking a deep breath. "We have a whole week together."

That's true, of course, but I don't mention that it could be the last week of my life.

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

I've always wondered what the inside of a Capitol train looks like. A circle of pristine blue velvet chairs surrounds a central coffee table made of dark mahogany. Small circular tables are placed every ten feet, covered with perfectly frosted cupcakes and sweets that give off a pleasant aroma. Golden chandeliers masquerade from the ceiling. A coffee machine is bolted to a countertop in the far corner. Bouquets of flowers line the windowsills.

District 1's escort Calypso walks in first and turns around, welcoming us inside. She outstretches her hand to help me up the steep stairway.

"Thank you, ma'am."

Calypso helps Sangria into the train, the door closes behind us, and silence envelops the train. Two figures I didn't notice before are seated in the plush velvet chairs. It's not until they turn around that I realize who they are.

Porcelain Wing is one of the smallest victors District 1 has ever seen. His long auburn hair is held back in a ponytail. Porcelain is dressed in a sleek suit and khaki dress shorts.

Iuna Mosier wears a shining silver dress that looks to be fashioned from ground diamonds. Her golden-blonde hair cascades down her back, and her light-blue eyes bounce between myself and Sangria.

Calypso, Sangria, and I sit down across from the two mentors. An awkward silence hangs in the air.

"Hey. S'up?" I say.

Iuna glares at me as if I've committed the crime of the century.

"What? I just said…"

"Porcelain and I have carefully evaluated the reapings," Iuna interrupts, looking more than a little annoyed. "and we have identified the most liable threats. The boy from 7 looks strong but that could be just looks. Same for the boys of 9 and 10."

"Here's how this will work," Porcelain says. "We'll split you guys up and train you each on half of the major threats. That way, your combined knowledge will be enough to take down any of the strongest outliers."

Iuna and Sangria amble into a separate train car, and I'm alone with Porcelain.

"I trust you have a good plan," he says shortly.

"What?"

Porcelain raises his voice. "What'll you do in the bloodbath? Guard the horn or run through the crowd killing outliers? What tributes will you prioritize?"

I take a deep breath before speaking. "I know what weapons I work best with. I know what the gamemakers like. Don't forget I've been watching the games for my entire life… um, sir."

"What's your chief weapon?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

"Axes and swords," I answer.

"That's a start," Porcelain admits. "Before we know it, your odds of being shunted from the career pack will be slightly less than the one-hundred percent they are now."

"I figure axes will be best for long range and swords for short range."

"What if there are no axes in the cornucopia?" Porcelain says so suddenly it's almost comedic.

I'm confused at first. "There are always axes in the cornucopia."

"What if there's too much fog to fight with a sword properly?"

"It would take a lot of fog to do that… sir."

"Do you not understand," Porcelain demands. "that these are all situations you could very well face in the games? You currently fail to understand that you must be prepared for anything. The gamemakers have cruel senses of humor."

* * *

 **District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

Haymitch Abernathy staggers onto the train, his steps uneven and his groans wobbling. His right hand is tightly gripped around a slender-necked green bottle, inside which liquid sloshes around and splashes out of the open top. Haymitch collapses onto the sofa, shaking with drunkenness.

"Um… Haymitch?" I say softly. The man rolls over, and I know he's not going to be much help the second I look into his eyes.

"Yes?" he asks, annoyed.

"You're our mentor, remember?"

"Kid, do you really think I can help you?" Haymitch says as he gets up for another drink.

I'm taken aback by this remark. "It's your job!"

"Well, if you insist…" Haymitch says, evidently pondering the thought. "Just watch the reapings."

Haymitch grabs the television remote and summons the holographic screen into existence. Thoughts race through my head faster than I could ever switch channels on this thing. My entire probability of winning comes from this guy. If he doesn't care at all about making sure I stay safe in the arena, I might as well sign my death warrant right now.

I hear more footsteps entering the train car. I roll over. Summer Nelson, District 12's depressing escort, doesn't look any less depressing having changed into a bright-orange suit.

"Where's Hopper?" I ask. I figure if I want an early advantage I might as well get to know my district partner a little better.

Summer dances around with her words as if she can't figure out how to explain. "He's… well, he's being rambunctious."

"Rambunctious?"

Summer makes a sour face. "You'll see."

Summer moves to the side with a start. "Look who's here."

Hopper Vigo starts into the train car, flanked by two peacekeepers like wingmen. His face is smeared with ice cream, juice, butter, and chocolate. I don't need an explanation to work out what must have gone down. He raided the peacekeepers' refrigerator and he's going to get in big trouble for it.

Upon further thought, he'll probably get off lightly. It's not like anyone can do anything serious to us now that we're tributes. The worst anyone can do is make our lives hell in the arena. More so than they will be by default, of course.

* * *

 **Here are the train rides! I didn't include all districts because I felt that would be repetitive and tedious to read. I figured including three tributes from a rich district, middle district, and poor district would give a rough idea of what the train rides are like for these tributes.**

 **The little contest I did last chapter has ended, and TheRTA is the winner. Congrats to them :D**

 **Thanks for all of your reviews! Stylists are next.**

 **Question 1: What are Declan's two best weapons?**

 **Question 2: What color suit does District 12's escort Summer wear on the train?**


	16. Stylists

**District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

"Sweetie, you've got to keep still."

I hiss and clench my teeth as Tilsee yanks the wax strip off of my leg. Searing pain fires through my body, and I clench the side of the chair, trying to ignore the agony ringing through me. Tilsee adjusts the studio lights overhead. I feel like I'm in some kind of hospital.

"How's the Capitol life treating you?" Tilsee asks, reaching for another strip.

I wish she would just keep quiet; I'm in too much pain to be conversing with somebody. But I figure the longer I talk the more I can delay the next waxing. "Great."

"What do you like most, honey?"

I set my jaw and form my mouth into a solid line as if thinking hard. "The lights at night."

"Ah, those are beautiful," Tilsee says with a sigh. "On Halloween night, they light the city up with spooky orange lanterns. Great for trick or treating."

"Trick or treating?"

Tilsee laughs. "It's a thing kids do every year on Halloween night. They walk between houses and people give them candy."

This is just the millionth sign of how unfair our country is. I haven't eaten candy since I was eight and that was only because it was one of the rich kids' birthday at school.

"If you're comfortable with telling me," Tilsee mumbles, fitting the wax strip onto my leg. "What's your best weapon?"

Without warning, she yanks back the wax strip. I let out a little scream that makes the hairs on my neck stand up.

"Knife!" I say so loudly that everyone in the room stares at me curiously. Face feeling hot, I lower my voice. "Knife," I repeat. "I'll try to get my hands on one in the arena."

"Yeah. Let's just hope that none of the other tributes get to them first."

Tilsee speaks as she walks to the corner of the room to wash her hands. "How are you going to get sponsors, dear?"

"Huh?"

"Sponsors. They may not seem important at first, but it's very unlikely for an unpopular tribute to win the games," she explains.

"Just like middle school all over again," I mumble.

"What's that?"

"Nothing."

* * *

 **District 11: Adelia Faye (15) Pov-**

I raise my arms high into the air, allowing Lynette to wrap the thick green felt around my body. She walks around me, making measurements and coiling the material around my torso like a mummy. All the while, she stares at me intently, smiling. That lady is creepy.

"Miracle!" Lynette calls. Her assistant pokes her head out of the adjacent room. Miracle's violent-orange locks are tied back in a ponytail, and she was a black apron smeared with dye and chunks of foam.

"Yes?"

"We need the vines! Only thirty minutes left!"

Miracle sprints into the back room and emerges with a cloth backpack. She kneels and unzips the pack, and I crane my neck to get a look at the contents. Miracle pulls a long snake out of the backpack. No, not a snake… a vine. She looks rather comedic as she pulls the endless cord-like green vine out of the pack. She brings one end to Lynette and then leaves the room.

Lynette pressed the end of the vine to my skin and begins wrapping it in circles. At first she makes a downward spiral, then upward so that the vines cross. Then she abandons all forms of coherent strategy and stretches the long vine crazily but snugly around my frame. I can hardly move or breathe.

I let out a sigh. The thought of wearing this stupid costume in front of thousands of people is unbearable to even think of. But then I think about what I have to go home to. Mom, Dad, Dariela, Atticus… thoughts of them push thoughts of everything else out of my mind. Maybe it's not the best idea to be longing for home when nothing is going to get me there except winning, but if it can power me through this hell then I don't have a problem with it.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

I'm lucky to have Zinc as my stylist. Ever since I was young he's been the stylist I've most admired. That's probably because he's done the looks for some of my favorite District 2 tributes of years past. There's only one word to describe him: cool. His long auburn hair is tied back in a ponytail and he knows the right time to crack jokes and make everyone laugh.

I sink down into the unfolded stretchy chair, trying not to let anything touch the parts of my body Zinc has already started applying makeup to. I crane my neck and watch as he fumbles with the lock of storage cabinet. He finally gets it open and pulls out a few colors of dye.

Zinc kneels beside me and fills his spray brush with orange color. The cool paint tickles in a pleasant way as it brushes against my skin. Before long, Zinc is molding together oranges and reds in patterns I can't help but smile at.

"What are you trying to make?" I ask.

"Brick designs," he answers, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I talked with the other District 2 stylist. Jaehaera will have them too."

Zinc sprays my leg with a setting spray to keep the paint from peeling off. As he waits for everything to dry, my wanders toward what the rest of my experience will be life.

I picture the training center, with carts of weapons and the gamemakers peering in from overhead like visitors at a zoo. I imagine myself with the other careers, gazing around and the other tributes and picking out ones to kill in the bloodbath.

The arena comes into view. It's hard to form a complete picture in my mind because I don't have the slightest clue as to what it'll be like, but the one thing that has been consistent in nearly every Hunger Games is the ring of pedestals surrounding the cornucopia.

A sensation washes over me that I have this thing entirely under control.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

Little yelps of panic are heard as the District 12 prep team speeds around the room. The tribute parade begins in two minutes. The perfect time for mischief. Everyone is so distracted that nobody notices me slip out of the room.

I bury the pickaxe from my chariot outfit into the wall of the nearest building, using it to hoist myself farther and farther upward…

* * *

 **Dun dun duuuuun! Chariot rides are next.**

 **Question 1: What weapon will Twilla try to get her hands on in the arena?**

 **Question 2: What color hair does Nero's stylist Zinc have?**


	17. The Chariot Rides

**President Talen Pov-**

It's a fantastic afternoon for the chariot rides. I've already seen all of the tributes from the recap, but now I get to see their reactions in front of thousands of people. And who can resist the colorful, often ridiculous costumes?

District 1 comes into view. The boy wears a large fur coat that doubles his size and makes the chariot look miniature. Colorful gemstones are inlaid into the fabric that throw off beams of light whenever he moves. He wields a golden staff and crown. The girl wears a white skirt from which beads dangle like raindrops. As the chariot moves, the beads wobble around and strike against each other, producing pleasant harmonies that remind me of the sounds made by wind chimes. Colorful crystalline shoes decorate her feet. Both tributes wave to the audience, and the girl flashes a few flirty winks from time to time.

District 2 wheels by. The boy wears a spotless roman toga. He has been spray-painted head-to-toe with a hypnotizing brick design. The blocks alternate between orange and fiery-red and are lined with a grey color that reminds me of cinder. The boy stays perfectly still, only furthering the statue effect, and when he finally moves to begin waving, the audience gasps with surprise. The girl wears a peacekeeper uniform, but one glance tells me that it's not just any ordinary peacekeeper uniform. Just like her district partner, everything from the white outfit to the exposed skin is spray painted with a fiery brick pattern. Words flash and then disappear on the costume, cast there by small projectors built into the chariot. _Superb stonework. Fortifying our cities. Support District 2._

District 3 brings on a whole new wave of cheers. The boy wears a full-piece bodysuit made of a piercing forest-green material. Silver and gold wires run up and down the costume, reminding me of a hard drive. His short hair is slicked back, and he wears glasses that run all the way around his head, giving the look a futuristic element. The girl wears a long black gown that runs from her shoulders to her feet. The audience gasps as a bolt of bright electricity jumps through the dress, illuminating the chariot and everything in a quarter-mile radius. A silver hairpiece reminiscent of gears decorates her head, and twisting wire designs are inked onto her arms.

District 4 is no less entertaining than the first two career districts. The boy is fully decked-out in pirate attire. He wears a torn and tattered black overcoat over a white lace-up vest. A red belt wraps tightly around his waist. A metal hook has been placed over his hand, and a strip of velvet underneath conceals his real hand. A cloth eyepatch covers his left eye, and a stuffed green parrot sits on his shoulder. The girl dons a long blue dress that spills over the edge of the chariot due to its large volume. The way the folds of the dress swirl together and spill over each other conjures an image of crashing sea foam. A sparkling silver crown sits on her head, wobbling slightly as she waves to the audience.

District 5 wheels by. It immediately becomes clear that each tribute represents a different method of generating power. The boy wears a heavy-looking suit consisting of many pipes, wires, spinning gears, and other mechanical pieces. The bottom of the chariot is flooded with about half a foot of water. The pipes suck up the water, and I watch as the liquid courses through his costume before being spit back into the chariot to be circled around again. An image of a dam comes to mind. The girl is dressed in a violent-orange blazer with a bright-red undershirt. Shining orange shoes cover her feet. Bright orange rays radiate outward from her head, giving the impression that her head is the sun.

District 6 obviously relates to transportation. The boy wears a tight, scratchy-looking black suit and black pants. It's only when the lights around me dim that I realize tiny pinpricks of light shine through the fabric, like stars in the night sky. Before the disaster that flooded much of the world's land, sailors often used stars to guide them at sea. The girl sports a long ribbon that winds around her body like a band of silver, reminding me of a train track or road. Her hair is sculpted into a bow, and many silver necklaces wrap around her neck.

District 7 comes next. The boy wears a fluffy brown suit down his entire torso, ruffled up in some places to simulate the bark of a tree. His arms are decorated like branches, painted with black and brown designs. A ribbon of vines wraps around his bulky frame, and his hair is dyed leaf-green. The girl is wrapped up in what appears to be a giant leaf. A headdress of branches sticks out of her long hair. It doesn't take a genius to work out that they have some of the more dim-witted stylists.

District 8 wheels by. The boy wears a shirt consisting of dozens of different squares of plaid that are sewn together. No less than eight needles stick out of the cloth in different places, and the boy stays completely still as though trying not to poke anything with the needles or drive them into his skin. The girl wears a dress reminiscent of a quilt. Blue silk sleeves decorate her arms, and a bright-pink bow sits on her head. Squares of color are painted onto her face, warped by her uncomfortable smile.

District 9 makes an entrance. The boy wears beige pants with fake grain climbing up the sides. His jacket has shoulder pads with buttons similar-looking to pieces of wheat. The girl wears a long dress with floor-length kimono sleeves that have the same grain design as her male counterpart. She also wears a wig of grain over her hair, giving the impression that wheat is growing out of her head.

District 10 comes into view. The boy dons brown leggings and a beige laced-up tailcoat. Fake horns sprout out of his head. The girl wears a cow-print ruffled skirt and knee-high black boots. A jean jacket covers her torso, and she wears a red bandana on her forehead. Her hair is in pigtails. It's hard not to notice the hatred fixed into her gaze as she glares over the audience.

District 11 ingresses. The boy wears a bulky orange vest that reminds me of a pumpkin. Puffy green pants cover his legs, and black sneakers his feet. His hair is slicked back and colored blue. The girl wears a green shirt and pencil skirt. A thick, cord of vine spirals around her green shirt, undulated into entrancing designs.

District 12 brings gasps from the audience. The girl stands in the chariot alone, her partner nowhere in sight. The girl wears a black headdress coated in sparkling ebony-colored beads. A sequined black dress covers her abdomen and legs. She holds a golden pickaxe in each hand, and coal dust is smeared on her face. There's a shout from somewhere in the audience, followed by a couple more shrieks. I take a look at the screen, and understanding dawns on me as to why everyone is panicking. The cameras show the boy from 12 climbing up the side of the presidential mansion. I swerve my neck around and spot him about ten feet above me, clinging to the wall of the mansion with his pickaxe.

"Mr. President." He drops beside me, nodding in greeting. "It was getting a little boring down there, so I thought I'd come up…"

The end of the boy's sentence is never heard as my two best peacekeeper close in on him. Two little darts enter his body, and he lolls backward, sedated for the time being.

Silence envelops the street as I approach the microphone. "We gather here today," I speak, my voice echoing around the square like thunder. "To celebrate the arrival of these twenty-four courageous young men and women."

The audience bursts into applause. "We are in deepest appreciation of their duty to their country and of their sacrifice. Let the eighty-third annual Hunger Games begin!"

* * *

 **Did you have a favorite costume? Please review!**

 **Question 1: What animal does Cyan (District 4 Male) wear on his shoulder?**

 **Question 2: What color are Luc's (District 9 Male's) pants?**


	18. Training Day 1

**District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-**

"What do you say to a little duel?" Luc asks, starting toward the cart of swords. "My lady."

"Thank you, kind gentleman." I mimic his fake Capitol accent as he hands me my sword, and, for the briefest second, our hands touch and my heart flutters a bit.

"Ready when you are," he mutters.

We stand in silence for a few seconds, and I can't help but notice how astounding his blue eyes look in the light overhead.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." I quickly look away, blushing.

Luc is the first to make a move, and I barely have time to dance out of the way. The battle is fake, but adrenaline rushes through my veins nonetheless. I can't shake the thought out of my mind that this very situation could play out in a week. But there won't be any peacekeepers waiting with medical supplies then.

I spin around him, and he jumps high into the air, his blonde hair standing on end as he falls back down. The thud echoes around the training center. I notice two gamemakers peering down curiously at us.

I swing my sword to the left, and it hits Luc in the torso. He falls to the ground, wheezing. "Oh lord, you're good," he mutters, sounding to be in extreme pain.

"Oh, no!" I cry, kneeling beside him. "Are you hurt? I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Luc jumps to his feet, as healthy and robust as ever before, and thrusts his sword behind my neck, trapping me against the blade.

"You're dead," he says triumphantly.

"Hey! That's not fair!"

"Nobody says it had to be fair," Luc says with a cocky smile.

I quickly walk to the rack, turning away from him. Panic courses through me. If I can't even bring myself to hurt him, how will I ever be able to last long in the arena? Add that to the fact that I've just humiliated myself in front of my crush and one could probably see why I'm not very happy.

"I suppose just one more duel wouldn't hurt," I admit as I grab a new sword, this one curved and looking more menacing than the last.

Luc puts his hand to his chin. "I suppose it would not."

This time, I have the edge. I know Luc's funny business. Once, he tries to trap me into the corner of the gymnasium. But I know what's coming. I dance out of the way, past a girl at the rope-tying station, and onto a tall crate full of weapons. By the time Luc catches up on me, I have time to pounce like a cat, lightly knocking my sword into his back.

"You're dead," I repeat, feeling slightly more confident than before.

* * *

 **District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-**

"Just a little farther."

"I can't. My arms are killing me!" I groan, grabbing the next bar of the course despite every cell in my body screaming for me to drop to the ground.

"Wow. You suck at this," Orford calls up to me. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You suck at everything."

Rage courses through me, and I fall, bending my knees as I land hard on the tiled floor.

"You're annoying," I say.

Orford chuckles. "Well you're ugly."

"Fine." I storm away and sit down at the first station I come to. I can't believe those poor gutter rats from the lower districts have the nerve to talk to me like that! In the arena, I could slice his head off with an axe. Or maybe a sword. No… a bludgeon. I push the thoughts out of my head. I suppose if I want to win the Capitol's hearts I might as well show them that I have one of my own.

It's only after a few seconds that I figure out what station I'm at. The edible bugs station. A thought crosses my mind of trying to shove a slippery cricket down my throat, and I gag a little. Eating bugs is for barbarians. The other rabble tributes. I really want to leave, but a gamemaker is watching me from high up and I don't want to make them think I'm not devoted enough to stay at one station for long.

The holographic screen glows, giving me my first instructions. Brightly colored insects aren't usually safe. Never eat anything with bright coloring. Nothing I didn't already know.

I grab a cup from the corner of the counter, filled with fake insects. I feel like a kindergartener as I pull out the brightly-colored insects and throw them in the fake trash bin.

Over the course of the next hour or so, the computer instructs me on everything there is to know about eating insect. I'm more surprised than I probably should be that I've learned a lot. Don't eat anything with a hard shell. There's a chance it'll contain parasites. If the insects have saliva in the corners of their mouths, feed them on fresh greens for 24 hours before eating them. Cooking the insects gives them a better taste and helps to kill parasites.

I still have a bone to pick with those poor kids, though.

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

 _Thwack!_

The point of my spear rattles as it makes hard contact with the cloth dummy. Adelaide hardly bats an eye as she tears the spear out of the cloth and throws it back to me.

"You threw it at an angle that time," Adelaide reports. "Try to throw straighter."

I find myself slightly peeved that she's acting like she knows everything when she can't even throw the spear accurately herself, but getting angry in the training center never leads to anything good. Never.

I sigh and throw the spear again. It lands in the neck of the dummy and makes a small piercing before falling downward, dangling by a couple strands of thread.

"Better." Adelaide tosses the weapon back.

They say that the third time's the charm, and this is proven true as I hurl the weapon as straight as I can manage. It lands in the mannequin's flesh perfectly, causing the table to rumble underneath it due to the force. I lower my arm, feeling triumphant.

Adelaide looks surprised herself. "Great. Let me try."

Grateful for the rest, I lean against the wall. Wiping a layer of warm sweat off of my forehead, I watch Adelaide kneel down with the spear. She tosses the weapon, and it misses the dummy by a breadth of a foot.

Figuring I might as well say something encouraging to get rid of the disappointed expression on her face, I remark, "Everyone has to start somewhere." I didn't intend to come off as rude, but I think I've done it.

She doesn't say anything as she gets back into position. I blink as the spear flies past me, misses my nose by a centimeter, and hits the dummy.

"Woah, that was sick!" a nearby boy remarks. "Really amazing."

Noticing the confused looks on our faces, the boy explains. "My name's Lincoln. From 6. District 6."

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Adelaide breaks the silence after an uncomfortably long amount of time. "Can we see what you're doing?"

"Sure," Lincoln says, welcoming us toward him. He's completing some kind of logic puzzle. Several colorful bands of plastic are intertwined together. Lincoln twists the shape and pulls on the loops.

"What's the goal?" I ask.

"To untangle the loops. It's supposed to enhance your brain's thinking power."

I instantly get the impression that this kid is someone who believes in third eyes and horoscopes and stuff. I've always had a bad habit of making assumptions about other people. I probably shouldn't be complaining. That attribute could be the one that saves Cyan Costas' life in the arena.

* * *

 **District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

I try to keep the camouflage station. My best bet is hiding during the games. As long as I figure out good strategies to keep myself out of sight I have a much better chance of making it past the first day. But I can't shake what my mentor Cecelia said yesterday out of my mind. I can't stay this timid and innocent when only the most fearless and bloodthirsty tributes produce victors.

Caden sits down beside me. Even though it's been three days since the reaping, we haven't spoken a word to each other. I'd talk to him, but he's not exactly approachable. He's been too scared to hold a conversation for more than a few minutes. However, he must have decided he wants to talk to me because he picks up a brush of his own and starts painting.

"How's life?" Caden asks, slapping a line of brown paint onto his arm.

I sigh. "Pretty much as great as it can be. We're training for the Hunger Games." I find my tone more pessimistic and lifeless than I had intended.

"It's not like District 8 never produces victors," he says. "I mean, we're both strong enough, right?"

I automatically look at myself and see just another District 8 girl. Nothing to see here. Move on to the flashier kids from the upper districts. I suppose Caden must either be extremely optimistic or blissfully unintelligent, because from what I can see of him he doesn't look like a very strong fighter either.

I notice Caden struggling to apply a few finer lines of grey coloring to his arm. Setting down my own jar of paint, I lean toward him to give him a bit of help.

"You're pressing down with the brush too hard. Use the tip and try to rest your hand against the table."

Caden's results instantly improve, and he stares at me like I've just let him in on the secrets of the afterlife. "Thank you… what's your name? Twill?"

"Twilla," I correct.

I steady myself in my chair and reach for the jar of green paint, speaking as I struggle to open the tightly-sealed jar. "Who came to say goodbye to you?" I ask.

I can instantly tell I've trespassed on personal territory. "Well, my mom and my dad and my… my sister," he answers. "And my friend Jute."

I automatically think of my friends in District 8. I hope they don't watch the games. At least I hope they won't be watching when… well… it's not helping at all to think about it.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

"Aren't you going to invite your partner to train with us?" I ask Declan.

Declan lofts his axe into the air, glancing momentarily at his partner across the room. From what I've seen of that Sangria girl, she's not the sharpest tool in the shed, and she's spending her time trying to flirt with the boy from District 11. I try to think of his name. I'm pretty sure it starts with a "J" but I can't place my finger on it.

"No. That girl is really weird," Declan answers.

He brings down his axe, burying it into the dummy's head. The cloth is strong, but the metal blade of the axe slices through it like butter.

"Well it's dead now," I say, getting into position to go in with my whip. It's a strategy we've been developing for about an hour. He renders the tribute defenseless with his axe and I finish him off with my whip. We've also been training with different weapons like swords and brass knuckles in case the weapons we like aren't supplied.

I bring down my bladed whip, letting the teeth sink into the cloth. I yank it back. The dummy is torn apart, pieces flying everywhere. One piece lands at the feet of a nearby girl, and she kicks it away mindlessly.

"Wow. That girl is fine," Declan says, grinning.

"Stop!" I demand "You're going to turn out like your partner."

"No, seriously, what's her name?"

"I dunno. But she's from 7."

Declan frowns and quickly turns back toward the newest mannequin. "You go first, Nero."

I ready my whip, raising it overhead. The whip cracks, and I bring it down. The teeth dig into the dummy and tear it off of the table. I imagine doing that to a real person, and, though I'd never admit it, it makes me feel a little icky.

"Now that I think about it," Declan says. "Where's your partner?"

"Jaehaera? I dunno. Your turn."

But Declan keeps talking "Our group is already small. It seems a bit wrong to be so fractured during training, don't you think?"

"You literally just said you don't want to be training with Sangria."

"I guess I changed my mind. She's part of our pack, whether she's valuable or not," he explains.

"But how are we going to get her away from that 11 boy?"

"Great question."

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

The few hours that I've spent with Hopper have been more than enough to prove that he's the coolest kid in Panem. He's always ready to have a good laugh and his love of mischief is admirable. One could say he's a copy of myself.

I kneel onto the dirt and grab a stick. The holographic screen nearby instructs us through setting up a snare trap. I watch as Hopper uses a rock to shove his stick into the ground.

"Ah, yes," I remark. "We go through an elaborate selection ceremony and are treated like celebrities in front of thousands of people so we can drill sticks into dirt."

Hopper's youthful smile grows. At first I wonder why he's enjoying the snare so much, but then I realize he's looking at something else. Hopper's gaze jumps between a nearby pail filled with dirt and the nearest trainer.

"No! Don't!" I urge. I'm usually all in for mischief but now is not the time. "The gamemakers are watching and they can kill you in the arena!"

"So?" he says, as if this explains everything.

"So?"

"So," Hopper repeats. "What does it matter if I die? Everyone's gotta die sometime and it hardly matters if your life was filled with great feats. Great feats such as… making other people's lives a pain."

"Okay. I give up. But we should at least finish the station first."

"Agreed."

We both turn back to our snares and finish them. I complete mine with relative ease, but Hopper seems to be having trouble. He keeps applying too much tension, snapping his sticks in half.

"Wow, you're good at this," Hopper breathes. "Allies?"

I nod my head in agreement without much thought. Ever since we met on the way down here I assumed we'd ally. Being friends in the games has certainly helped tributes before. Why not now?

* * *

 **District 11: Adelia Faye (15) Pov-**

I drum my knives anxiously against my thigh as the instructor explains the rules of the station. I'm not at the knife station alone, though. Another girl is here. Her uniform explains that she's from District 12, but that's nothing I couldn't already tell. She has the same dark eyes and dark hair that are common in District 12 tributes, and the sallow lines on her face tell me she's not a stranger to hunger.

"Alright, let's see what you two can do," the trainer says. When he steps out of the way, two peacekeepers approach and flank him on either side. I suppose they're there in case the 12 girl or I tried to attack him, though I've never heard of that happening before.

"You want to go first?" the 12 girl asks, looking just as nervous as I feel.

"Sure."

I plant my feet firmly below me and hold the knife up into the air just like the trainer demonstrated. I bring it down and plant it into the block of cloth. I must have used too little force, because the knife only pierces through about a centimeter of the target. I step back, discouraged.

"Don't be disappointed," the 12 girl reassures me. "I'm way worse than you. What's your name?"

"Adelia Faye," I answer, "District 11."

"Pleasure," the girl says. "Remi Gardner. District 12."

Remi steps forward and lifts both of her knives into the air. When she brings them down, they both miss the dummy, and her hands knock into each other. Remi staggers backward with pain.

"Oh no!" I yell. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Remi groans. "Just… a little… accident."

We complete the knife station over the next few minutes. By the time we finish, there are only three minutes left until noon. Time for lunch.

A peacekeeper blows a whistle from the corner of the room. There's a great clatter as everyone sets down what they're doing. There's a chorus of "sorry, excuse me" as we all get in order of district. Then the twenty-five of us file out of the room and walk down the hall to the cafeteria.

It's an amazing sight. Twelve tables are laid out in a circle, with paper tents indicating which table is for which district. The thirteenth table is piled high with roasted meat, bowls of fruit, pasta salad, and greens. A sigh tumbles from my lips as I savor the aroma of more food in one place than I've ever seen in my life. The peacekeeper dismisses us, and we grab all of the food our plates can hold. I grab a great slab of steak and several heaped spoonfuls of pasta salad before sitting down at the District 11 table.

I let out a little yelp of shock as Remi sits down beside me.

"You're supposed to sit at your table," I say.

"Nah. You can sit wherever you want," she explains. "The careers are all sitting at the same table."

"So," Remi says, starting on her mountain of cauliflower. "Maybe, I was thinking…"

"Allies?" I complete.

"Yes!" Remi says.

I take a while to think it over. Being from Districts 11 and 12, I'd say an alliance is the best way to increase our already small chances of survival. Whenever a tribute from a super poor district wins, it's usually because they were in a strong alliance.

I slowly nod my head, grateful that I won't be completely alone in the difficult weeks to come.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

If I've learned anything from my few days in the Capitol, it's that starting a fire is really, really hard.

It's not like I'm completely stupid. I've never actually believed that you can start a fire with two sticks. But what they don't tell you in wilderness shows is that it can take hours to get a flame going, and by the time you do you'll probably be too exhausted and tired to appreciate it fully.

Someone clears their throat behind me. I swerve around. It's my district partner… what's her name… Twilla? I hung out with her at the camouflage station earlier today. I guess the stress of the games is fogging up my memory.

"Need some help there… Caden?" Twilla says.

My first instinct is to say that I'm fine, but I figure that getting to know my district partner a little better can't hurt. I waddle to the side, and Twilla kneels beside me, relieving my calloused hands of the burden.

"Looks like you're not too bad. Give yourself another few minutes and you'll be able to do this."

I sigh. "I'm convinced these needles are designed not to burn easily."

Twilla nods her head slowly in agreement. "They probably are. That, or the plants here are so healthy and hydrated that it takes a lot to get them started. The plants in District 8 burn like paper, remember?"

I don't nod. Thoughts of home just hurt.

Twilla shoves everything into position and starts rubbing the bow back and forth. The stick twists and twists around in the tinder, but nothing happens. In the first ten minutes, she has a light smolder going. But then the stick snaps in half, and Twilla tumbles forward, scarcely able to roll out of the way of the hot needles.

My first thought is that we're both hopeless. But hey. One in twenty-four is still a chance, right?

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Sangria, Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Pranksters 'R' Us: Pixel, Hopper**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Loners (For Now): Joule, Dory, Cyan, Adelaide, Arthur, Lexus, Lincoln, Cerise, Erik, Twilla, Caden, Harper, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **I hope you liked the chapter! Each training day is going to showcase 8 tributes, so that all 24 will get a Pov. I randomly picked names from a hat for which tributes would go to which day, so don't get weirded-out if there are more female tributes than male on one day or more careers on one day than another. Please review :D**

 **Question 1: True or false: roasted meat is not provided in the cafeteria at the training center.**

 **Question 2: What bad habit does Cyan have?**


	19. Training Day 2

**District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

Pixel chews her toast thoughtfully. Even though she's sitting still, her eyes sparkle with a sort of playful light. From what I've seen of her on the train, she always looks like that when she's thinking about mischief.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Router asks.

I shake my head, pushing away from my empty plate. I'm too nervous to put anything in my stomach. What if the other tributes don't like me? What if the Capitol is upset because they hoped they'd have a super smart and tech-savvy District 3 boy this year? I stayed mostly to myself yesterday, but if I want to make a splash I can't keep doing that forever.

"Well, you should," Pixel says after swallowing her toast. "We don't eat anything until lunch. Are you nervous?"

I shrug.

We quickly get ready and hop into the elevator. The pair from 2 steps in one the way down. Pixel and I cram ourselves into the corner as far away from them as possible. The girl's black hair is tied back in a ponytail, while the boy has his arms folded and an expression that I can't quite interpret.

We arrive at the ground level just as tributes begin trickling into the gymnasium.

The head trainer gives us the rules, and then we're off. I was hoping to get a spot at the fire starting or shelter building stations, but they're already full by the looks of things. I guess I may as well take the opportunity to check off water purification.

The water purification station is very cozy. It might be relaxing if not for the fact that I'm surrounded by twenty-three other kids who could kill me in a week. The only light illuminating the place is fixed to the countertop upon which the station is set up. There are several glasses of water at varying degrees of stagnation. One cup is as clear as can be, while others are so yellow I can hardly see through. And everything in-between.

Life in District 3 hasn't taught me much about water purification. I know from the second the screen fires up that I'm about to learn a lot.

The holographic screen presents me with two different forms of iodine: tablets and drops. Using tablets is easy enough. Add one tablet per quart of water and stir vigorously. If the water is particularly dirty, add two tablets per quart. Then I have to use the droplets. They're much harder. If I hold the dropper at the wrong angle, the drops will be too big and extra iodine will be wasted.

Once the toil is over, the screen disappears. I was expecting to be taught something about boiling the water or filtering out the dirt. I guess I'll have to go to one of the other stations to learn those skills.

I get the attention of a nearby trainer and ask him what I'm supposed to do to get the station ready for the next person.

"Just leave it," he answers. "The avoxes come through and set everything back up."

His reply makes me so angry that I make a point to put everything back into place.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

Taking a deep breath, I quietly step into the simulation room. The door gently closes behind me, almost catching onto the blowgun strapped to my back. I figure that working with darts every opportunity I get is the best way to go. There's sure to be no shortage of poison in the arena, and if I can dip the tips of my darts in the poison it'll give them extra capacity to kill.

It's less than five seconds before the first holographic person shoots out of the projector. I reach for my shoulder, unclipping the blowgun and grabbing it with both hands just like the trainer showed me. A dart is already fitted inside. I put the pipe to my lips and blow hard.

The dart fires through the air, landing in what must be the holographic person's arm. With a dinging noise, it collapses, exploding into a shower of pixels that dissolve into the air around me. One down.

I can't help but let out a yelp of shock as a shuffling noise is heard behind me. One of the fake people is melting out of the wall I entered through, whereas two more are coming from the wall in front.

Spinning around on one foot, I load my next dart and fire it at the one behind me. He disappears. By the time I turn around, the other two are less than ten feet from me.

I shoot one dart into the neck of the larger of the two people, killing it. But I'm ultimately helpless as the third and final simulation closes its hand around my neck. I don't feel it, of course. It's made of air.

"Well I suppose I'm dead," I mutter, discouraged.

The loud buzzer from outside indicates that my time is up. The door creaks open, and I walk out, greeted by my trainer.

"You did great," she says. "Just remember not to let your guard down next time. You were so busy trying to kill the one behind you that you ignored the two on your other side."

I nod and step aside.

Two other tributes are at the station with me. The dark-haired girl from District 2 that makes all of the outliers, including myself, not going to lie, shrink back; and the boy from District 6—I think his name is Link?

The 2 girl steps in for her turn. Meanwhile, our trainer sits down at the control panel and I'm left alone with the 6 boy.

Awkward silence hangs in the air.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Lincoln Blitz," he answers.

"Pleasure. Adelaide Hampton."

But we don't say anything else. I'm usually good at starting conversations, but it's a very unique experience when the person you're trying to converse with could kill you at any time in the weeks to come. I suppose I don't have to talk to any of the others if I don't want to. There's nothing wrong with going solo.

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

I head over to the fire starting station once we're free to go; I want to be able to start a fire without matches. I kind of wasted yesterday trying to ally with my district partner. I can't imagine why. He's kind of an over thinker and he's not even that cute anymore.

The station for fire starting is one of the most popular stations from what I've seen on television, and it's no surprise that it's rather battered. It must have once been something like a sandbox filled with dirt, but several panels of wood have fallen down and dirt spills onto the tile in some places. There are a few other girls there, but I ignore them and follow the instructions on the screen.

I bunch a group of dry needles and leaves into a small space and place several sticks in a cone-shape on top. I decide to start with matches because I don't even know how to get a fire started with them. A jump shakes my body as the match catches fire, and I drop it in the pile of tinder, nervously awaiting the outcome.

According to the screen, the fire can't burn if the sticks are too tightly-packed together. Oxygen can't get in fast enough to keep the fire going. But by the looks of things, I've succeeded. Before I know it, the little pile of dry plant matter is throwing off curls of smoke.

Not wanting the fire to burn out, I pile more sticks on top. I seem to be doing well until the artificial wind machine kicks in. The cold air currents put out the fire in seconds.

"Can you show me how to get the big logs on fire like that?"

I look up and see a boy standing awkwardly in front of me. My first impression is that he's super cute. He has great dark-brown curls and piercing dark eyes.

A laugh tumbles to my lips, and I scooch aside. The boy sits down beside me.

"What's your name?" I ask, a flirty smile on my breath.

He leans back a bit as if discomforted. "Joule Merchiers. District 3."

"Lovely. I'm Dory. First thing you need to do is get your tinder going."

I bunch up a few pine needles into a small pile. Finally, I surround them with a cone made of three sticks. Joule does the same, his eyes following my hands and then jumping to his to repeat.

"See how the sticks make a triangle?"

"Um… yes?"

"If you were a triangle, you'd be acute one."

Joule lapses into uncomfortable silence, and understanding dawns on me that this boy clearly isn't my Mr. Right. I can't help feeling a little disappointed, because he really is super cute. But I suppose there are lots of other boys here I haven't talked to yet. Hope isn't completely gone.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I lift the axe up by the tip of the handle, so the blade is suspended in the air.

"Woah! That's way too heavy to throw!" Lexie shouts.

"Yeah. We wouldn't want you taking off anyone's head," Cyan adds. "Not yet, at least."

"Nothing's too heavy to throw," I groan. "You just lift it up and throw it."

Swinging on one foot to gather momentum, the axe is thrown out from my center. Before I accidentally let go and dismember some poor tribute, I let go of the weapon. It flies through the air, and Cyan has to duck to keep the blade from singing off his stray curls. The blade buries itself into the foam target board, and I step back, satisfied.

"That was awesome, Jaro," Cyan calls. "Really awesome."

"Thanks."

"That was _not_ awesome," Lexie says snarkily. "He could have killed you."

Cyan offers a rebuttal right away. "He could _not_ have killed me. And there are peacekeepers all around with supplies and stuff."

Cyan and Lexie fade into argument, and I'm left alone. In the few days since I volunteered, I've developed a very valuable tactic for whenever my fear starts to crawl back up. I just think of nothing. Not even a blank screen. Literally nothing. Without fail, the exercise calms me back down in a minute or two.

Someone shakes my shoulder.

I groggily open my eyes and see Lexie standing above me. "Get up, sleepyhead. You want to keep training or you want to sleep the day away?"

I get to my feet. A look at the clock tells me I was asleep for about four minutes. Lexie and Cyan are already back to throwing axes. I've never actually considered suggesting an alliance between us three. I just figure it can't hurt to make a few friends in training.

I walk to the cooler in the corner for a swig of water before grabbing an axe of my own to practice with.

I wish I could just sleep the day away, but sadly I can't. Shame really, seeing as that would be a rather nice way to slog through this hell.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

This is just like high school all over again.

I walk into the training center and everybody nearby does that look-away thing. It's not like it bothers me much. Being the deaf girl with the weird voice isn't how I chose to live.

The shelter building station grows nearer and nearer. One look at some of the larger tributes tells me there's no way I'll be able to overpower them physically. Outsmarting them mentally is more of my style.

I reach the station and the pile of fallen logs within. A glance at the holographic screen tells me that the first thing to do is find a good tree—one with a sturdy trunk that's not too tall. There's only one artificial tree at the station, so I don't have much choice.

I slip on the red rubber gloves the station provides and begin stacking branches around the artificial tree. I can't tell if it's real wood that I'm using. It's either really well-made fake or really worn-down real. I stand the first long branch straight up before letting it fall onto the vertical trunk. So far, so good.

As the minutes blend together, I continue lining branches in a cone-shape around the trunk. Once, I accidentally fall forward, snapping a few in half. It takes several minutes to pull everything out and replace it, but the finished product is well-worth it. The structure of branches reminds me a lot of when the butcher tears away the skin of the game back in District 10 and only the skeleton is left.

The thought simmers in my mind for a few seconds before I cast one more hateful look at the gamemakers. One takes notice of me, but she quickly looks back toward two career boys dueling with swords. They must be far more interesting to watch than us, I suppose.

Next, the screen instructs me to line plant matter around the skeleton. My eyes land on a bucket filled to the brim with leaves and smaller sticks. The earthy aroma is pleasant.

I glance at the clock once I finally finish, expecting to see that hours have passed. I've taken thirty minutes! They say time flies when you're having fun. I suppose that would mean time slows down when your likely imminent death is mere days away.

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

I hold the dagger close to my face, allowing my reflection to be seen in the metal. The lights overhead hit the blade and bounce off, throwing bright beams against the walls and floor. If I said I've never seen anything this beautiful, I'd be lying. Rhiannon's eyes put the glistening dagger to shame.

"Are you coming?" Cerise stands in the doorway, holding a spear and a knife.

"Yep," I say, fitting my two daggers into my belt. Cerise walks into the simulation room. I follow, lightly shutting the door behind me.

"What difficulty should we set it to?" Cerise asks, starting toward the control panel.

I furrow my brow, thinking hard. "Why don't we start out on six? We can go higher later."

Everything in position, we wait in silence for a few moments. She yelps as the first orange pixelated hologram fires out of the projector, bounding toward us. I run right in with my first dagger, thrusting it into what would be the hologram's abdomen. It collapses in a shower of orange, gone forever.

It's only after the pixels dissipate completely that I realize Cerise is in trouble. Three different holograms are cornering her against the wall. She seems to have abandoned all forms of coherent strategy, twirling around her knife and spear and trying to knock them away.

I bound toward the scene and swipe out the largest threat. While the other two are distracted with me, Cerise finishes them off, her spear skewering through them like a toothpick through meat.

"Wow. That was really good, Erik," she remarks.

"Thanks."

"I think we both kind of messed up in the middle. We pretty much stuck to ourselves and ignored each other," Cerise critiques.

I just nod. I don't mind her poking holes in my plans as long as she doesn't poke holes in me.

"Allies, then?" Cerise blurts out so quickly it's almost comedic.

I'm sure my brothers Jakob and Jonas are watching from back home in District 7. And Rhiannon. What would they want me to do? I figure if I want to get home to them I might as well take a moment to think from their perspective.

My head shakes in a nod as I finally make my decision.

* * *

 **District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

I was expecting the bow station to be crowded with tributes. But it's only me and one other kid, a boy with light hair that shows he's from District 9. I remember from the recap that his name is Luc.

The trainer steps out of the way, and I walk forward. I fit an arrow onto the bowstring, very conscious of the way two gamemakers are peering down at me from above. I let the arrow fly. It whizzes through the air and buries itself into the wooden target board, three rings away from the bulls-eye.

I turn around. Luc has a pitying look on his face. Nothing a quick lie can't fix.

I lower my voice as if telling a secret. "Don't worry. My mom's a professional archer back in District 6. I'm just pretending to be weak so the others don't target me."

Luc doesn't look convinced. "Whatever. It's my turn."

Disheartening me still more is the fact that Luc's arrow lands in the target with astounding accuracy. Only a few inches to the left and he'd've gotten a perfect strike.

"You know I'm missing these shots on purpose," I say, my brain rushing to think of another lie. Luckily, I'm a quick thinker. "And my mom is friends with some of the top trainers at the academy in District 2."

I've always seen lying as my best weapon. Everyone says it's not healthy, but hey. Nobody ever got through life by being a goody two-shoes and being honest. I acted all innocent at the reaping, but the time for innocence is over. This isn't a game. I can't go home until all of the others are inside of coffins.

"That's… whatever. It's your turn. We only have ten more minutes and then we have to switch stations," Luke urges impatiently.

I grab an arrow from my quiver and close one eye, the better for steady aim.

I can imagine a new target board is order. Especially because—well, you know, an arrow is lodged into the bull's eye.

I step back, beaming in admiration at my handiwork.

Luc takes one more turn ("gosh, if only I'd shot a few more inches to the right") and then our time is up.

On my journey to the knife station, a gamemaker follows me with his gaze. Probably shocked how much I've changed.

I just offer him a nod. That little crying girl from District 6 is gone.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

I hope the gauntlet is as easy as the careers make it seem.

I've barely made one step onto the first platform when one of the trainers sends a weapon flying my way, a spiked club. My feet spring up from the platform, and I cartwheel up to the next level just as two more trainers rush toward me.

A long baton swings toward me. I quickly dance out the way and find myself trapped between two weapons, a sword and another mace. I leap upward, and the weapons clang together beneath my feet.

Groaning, I climb to the next platform. My muscles burn with exhaustion. The end is in sight… well, it was always in sight, but at least it's getting closer. My legs have a close scrape with injury as a trainer swings a club toward me, but I slide to the left just in time to escape.

By the looks of things, the course is about halfway completed. I notice two careers watching me from below, eyeing me as if they're sizing me up.

The sight motivates me so much that the trainers can't catch up with me. I spring upward and upward, cartwheeling up steps and around obstacles. Less than ten seconds of dodging weapons later, my feet crash down onto the top of the gauntlet.

One of the career boys sets his mouth into a firm line, nodding as if mildly impressed.

Emotions clash inside of me. For one, I've just shown them that I'm not a weakling. They can't challenge me without expecting a, well, challenge. On the other hand, there's a very real chance I just skyrocketed upward on their kill list. If I had to pick one, I'd choose the former any day. But the Hunger games isn't really a game of choice, now, is it?

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Sangria, Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Pranksters 'R' Us: Pixel, Hopper**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Joule, Dory, Cyan, Adelaide, Arthur, Lexus, Lincoln, Twilla, Caden, Harper, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **Here are the next eight tributes! I didn't intend for there to be a severe lack of dialogue in this chapter, it just kind if played out like that. Expect the third and final day of training sooner than later. Whether they deal with thoughts, speculations, or anything else, I love your reviews! Please consider dropping one if you have the time :D**

 **Question 1: What color are the rubber gloves in the training center? (Hint: Check Mavvi's Pov)**

 **Question 2: Which of the following weapons is** _ **not**_ **used on the gauntlet: baton, spiked club, axe?**


	20. Training Day 3

**District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

I hold the scythe in my hand tentatively, twirling it around in my grip as I wait for the target to appear. At last, the cutout rabbit begins dashing across the zone. I quickly lash out with the scythe, causing the mechanical rabbit to fall. I pull the scythe back and jump forward again, this time hacking the rabbit in half.

I set the scythe back on its shelf. The instructor smiles at me, giving me a few words of praise. I thank him and notice Orford from 10 walking my way.

"Hey Luc, want to have a duel?" Orford calls.

"Sure," I say, my voice challenging. I snatch up a scythe, and Orford grabs one of his own. The trainer running the station is clearly amused, because he leans back against the wall with his lips curled up into the slightest smirk.

Orford and I dance around each other. Like a lot of District 9 kids, I can use a scythe like a third arm. Even so, I'm not sure I could take down a well-trained career if I came across one.

Trying to act as spontaneous as possible, I lunge forward. My crashing footsteps echo around the gymnasium. Using all of the strength I can muster, I swing the scythe to the left. Orford simply leaps over the blade like a jump-rope, unscathed.

The 10 boy chuckles. "You can do better than that. I'd duck if I were you."

The meaning of his last sentence sets in almost too late. Almost is the key word. Heeding his warning, I fall to the ground. His scythe flies over my head, nearly slicing off a piece of my hair.

"My, you are fast after all," Orford says, swirling his scythe in hand and sporting a smirk.

For some reason I can't quite place a finger on, this statement provokes me. I dive forward, quickly knocking Orford's scythe out of his grasp. He must be shocked by my sudden burst of energy, because he doesn't say a word as I place the blade of the scythe onto his hip.

"You lose," I mutter triumphantly.

"Well at least I'm decent enough not to cheat," Orford says.

"I did not cheat! How could I have cheated?"

Orford's mouth hangs open as if he's unable to think of a reply. I didn't cheat. He's just mad that I'm better than him.

"You're really, really stupid," Orford spits at last.

I set down the scythe and thunder away without another word.

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

I'm relieved I've fixed myself a spot in the career group. My district partner Sangria is just so hard to speak to; she only judges me by which of my attributes and features are "cute". But I suppose she acts that way to everyone.

After two days of training separately, I've finally persuaded all four of us to train together. Now, we'll have lots of time to mingle and discuss our strategies for the games as well as gossip about the other tributes.

Nero's easy to talk to. I like how cool and easy-going he is.

"Any strong ones? Any we should invite to join the pack?"

Nero shakes his head. "I wouldn't take the chance. Whenever an outlier joins the career pack, they almost always find a way to kill off all of their allies."

"But drastic times call for drastic measures," Jaehaera chimes in, flinging a sword into the cloth dummy. "We only have four. We're automatically weaker."

Sangria speaks up. "That boy from 11 is super cute."

We all pretend not to hear her.

"I suppose the best option would be that 10 boy, Orford," I suggest, shoving the end of one of my knives into the mannequin. "He looks strong, but that could be just looks."

"We can't tell for sure until we see his training score," Nero notes. "And besides, training scores don't tell you anything. Remember that victor from a few decades ago that only scored a three?"

We all nod.

"We could bring in that boy from District 9. He's cute," Sangria continues.

We all pretend not to hear her. Jaehaera is fuming.

For once, I don't ignore my district partner. "That Luc boy might not be out of the question. He's strong," I say.

"Ah, district loyalty, isn't it, Declan?" Jaehaera says, her dark eyes flashing the way they always do when she gets passionate about something. "Agreeing with your stupid district partner. Ever the patriot."

"Hey!" Sangria shouts. "I'm not stupid!"

"Yes you are!" Jaehaera shouts.

"Am not."

"Am."

"Am not."

"SHUT UP!" Nero shouts.

The 2 boy glances at me. _Let's just kill her in the bloodbath,_ he mouths.

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

A few hours before noon, the career pack breaks up. I notice the close-knit duo of Declan and Nero heading for the swords. Sangria prances toward the camouflage station, and I head for the poison station. There isn't a trainer there, but there is another tribute.

"Hi," I say, sitting down. The small girl has several vials in front of her. She squints her eyes to read the labels as she sorts them.

The girl looks up and jumps. "You're…"

"Yep," I say, nodding in confirmation. "Jaehaera Blackfyre. District 2."

The girl's hands race as she finishes the station as quickly as possible. The instant everything is back in order, she gets up and sprints to the other side of the gymnasium. I guess I should take that as a compliment.

I sit down on the bench. The poison station is tucked into a corner far away from the gamemakers. The region would be shrouded in relative darkness is not for the hot flood-lamp mounted to the wall above the countertop.

The holographic screen instructs me to rank the vials of poison by how quickly they can kill and then match each poison to its proper antidote.

Suddenly, and I can't say why, a surge of pride rushes into me. Daeron was probably doing this exact same thing five years ago. He died in the games. I'm not going to die. Rhaenys is probably watching from home, wishing she was in my spot. The thought of her angrily turning off the television instills a whole lot more confidence in me. More so than there already is, of course.

Figuring I might as well get as much done before time runs out, I get to work. The screen tells me that darker colors generally mean the poison works more quickly. However, it reports, killers often color the poisons differently to confuse their prey. If there are any chunks in the poison, they're likely pieces of colorant that didn't dissolve fully.

In about five minutes, I have all of the poisons ranked. The screen scans over my work, reporting that I got a flawless score.

I then turn to the poison antidotes. I know from watching past games that poison antidotes aren't usually labeled with the poison they counteract. This is sure to be a valuable skill to learn. The only clue the screen gives me is that the light red antidote cures most common poisons.

When I finally have everything sorted, the screen scans over my work once more. 80 percent accuracy. I scowl with disappointment and compare the correct answers displayed on the screen to mine. Only 20 percent of my answers switched and I'd have a perfect score! I suppose I'd better keep at it. If the thing I try to drink in the games falls into that 20 percent, I'm 100 percent dead.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

"That branch looks a little crooked," Lexie critiques.

I turn toward my branch shelter and close one eye, allowing the small house to be silhouetted in my vision. Lexie is right. One of the branches to the right of the entrance is lopsided. If it falls, it could cause the whole shelter to collapse in its descent.

Slipping on my rubber gloves, I carefully start adjusting the branch.

"Can you help me out a bit? I only have two hands."

Lexie nods and rushes toward me, holding the base of the branch firmly while I shift it left and right. It's immeasurably satisfying when the long branch finally falls into place.

"Shall we try the water test?" Lexie suggests.

"Sure."

She rushes to the corner of the room, where the large cart of drinks sits. She returns thirty seconds later with a bottle of water.

I crawl into the shelter. It's a tight fit, but it would certainly be better that nothing in the wilderness.

The sound of the plastic breaking can be heard as Lexie opens the bottle of water. Then she starts sprinkling it on top of the shelter. A few drops hit my back, but I'm dry overall.

"I think it worked!" I shout, wiggling out of the shelter on my hands and knees. "Let's try yours."

Lexie climbs into her shelter. I grab another bottle of water and sprinkle it over the top. By the sound of her pained hisses from inside, the cold water must be spilling onto her.

At first I'm not sure what to say when Lexie comes out sopping wet.

"Don't worry," Lexie chimes. "I made that shelter bad on purpose just so the others won't target me."

This news takes me aback. It would be very close-minded to say that she's a liar, but the news is hard to believe. The only reason I built my shelter so well is that I have experience. Being an orphan means I've had to sleep in some weird places throughout my life. My mentor's been pestering me constantly about what I'll show the gamemakers in my private session. Before I wasn't so sure, but now I think I've decided.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

"Good. Just open up your hands a little more," Erik instructs.

I pull my left hand farther up the shaft of the axe, and I instantly feel more in-control of the movements of the weapon.

Erik nods, signaling that the time is right. We both run forward with our axes and assault the dummy that sits on the counter. I bury the blade of my axe into the dummy's neck, literally slicing off its head and making me feel slightly queasy. Meanwhile, Erik dismembers the mannequin, chopping off both of its limbs before landing the blade into its stomach.

"I think it's dead," I say, laughing ever-so-slightly.

"Yep," Erik agrees, wrenching his axe out of the cloth.

"How'd I do?"

"Really good," he says. "But you're not giving the axe enough room to swing. Here, take a practice swing."

Erik steps out of the way. I get into the position that he showed me. At the end of the day, I'm his opponent; he could theoretically teach me everything incorrectly just to higher his own odds of winning. But we've been allies for over twenty-four hours and I don't think he'd go against district loyalty this early in the competition.

My "practice strike" as he calls it goes remarkably well. I aim for the dummy (or at least what's left of it), and I hit only a few inches to the left of the spot I was shooting for.

Erik clicks his tongue in confirmation. I yank the axe out of the dummy.

That's when I notice two gamemakers peering down at me from above, and my heart turns a little cold. They don't see me as a human being with a home to go back to. They just see me as _Cerise Yew, District 7 Female, Age 15._

"Erik."

"Yes?"

"We're being watched."

Erik follows my gaze to the two gamemakers, and he jumps.

"Get ready. We have to do something impressive," he says hurriedly.

"What, though?"

"Doesn't matter. Anything!"

We both run for the dummy, groaning out things reminiscent of battle cries. I smash the dummy with my axe as hard as I can. The thing is knocked off of the table, landing with a thud on the tiled floor.

I peek back up at the gamemakers, only to find that they've already looked away.

"All that panic for nothing," I sigh, feeling more than a little humiliated.

* * *

 **District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

"Look at me! I'm a dummy!" I flash Declan a flirty grin.

He just sighs and focuses on the knot he's working on. He doesn't even laugh.

"Can I say something?" I call.

"Yep. Nothing stopping you from speaking."

"Why are you so serious?"

Declan looks up. "Dunno. Why are you goofing off?"

I set down my dagger. "I was trying to make you laugh. Lighten up a little."

"I'll try," Declan responds.

I grab his wrist, pulling him toward me. He stands up from his chair, confused. I press my lips against his for a moment before pulling away.

"What are you doing?" he demands.

I shrug. "Just trying to lighten things up."

"But—"

"And you are kind of cute."

He opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. I smile.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

It's far too late to turn back now. Now that I've grabbed the mic at the reaping and scaled the face of the presidential mansion during the tribute parade, I'm pretty much resigned to the bloodbath. Whenever a gamemaker looks at me, they scowl. I can imagine there are very certain obscene gestures they would like to throw my way.

"Hey, where are you going?" I call. The four careers whip their heads around, staring hard at me.

"Why do you want to know?" the 2 girl spits.

"Dunno. Just think you'd be stupid if you think you need to do all this training to kill a puny 12-year-old." I point at myself with both hands, wearing a goofy grin.

"Shut up, 12. You're the first I'll get in the arena," she continues.

"Lovely. Will that be before or after tea?"

The 2 girl lunges toward me, and she has to be restrained by her district partner. My lips curl up into a smile of amusement.

"You scram right now. And I don't care what they say about not being allowed to hurt each other before the games," she growls.

"Hey!" a trainer shouts. "Break it up!"

I become legitimately concerned that the veins on her neck might explode. The 2 girl thunders away, fuming.

"I'll just go to sleep, then," I remark.

I lie down on the cold tiled floor, snoring as loudly as I can. I open my eyes a smidge and notice several nearby tributes (a boy from 5 and a girl I recognize from 10 among them) staring at me, their gazes brimming with annoyance.

"How are we going to get this kid away from us?" one of the career boys asks another.

"No clue," the other replies. "And I've tried death threats. They don't work. He doesn't seem to care about whether he goes home or not."

He's right. If I don't have my name stamped into the Walk of Victors at least I might get a chance to see my family again. Or head off to a place better than Panem. Even if I face an eternity of nothingness, it'll better than obeying the rules of the most revolting leaders in human history.

I still have a long list of harmless trouble I'd like to cause before then, though.

* * *

 **District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

I use my napkin to wipe the pizza grease from the corners of my mouth. Napkins are a luxury we could never afford in District 12. It feels a little strange to be using them disposably for the first time in my life.

In unison, the twenty-four tributes (including myself) stand up and file out of the cafeteria. I stick close to Adelia. Being alone isn't something any tribute wants at a time like this. This is the point when the careers are making targets. If viewing past games has taught me anything, it's that staying alone automatically makes you seem weaker.

Adelia and I enter the gym and run for the sword station. We only have an hour to train before the gamemakers start calling us in for private sessions; we don't have any time to waste. I snatch up a sword, cringing as the blade scrapes over the metal countertop. Adelia does to the same, and we quickly get into position.

"Who's gonna make the first move?" Adelia asks.

"Dunno. Just lunge when it feels right."

I pounce forward a few seconds later. Figuring I might as well treat Adelia like a real enemy for the time being, I try to flush her toward a shadowy area in a neglected corner where she'll have the element of darkness working against her.

Adelia jumps backward, bounding away from the point of my sword. She is genuinely sweating in seconds.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I assure Adelia. "We're allies, remember?"

Adelia nods.

I don't have time to breathe. My ally lunges toward me. I let out a gasp of pain, but it does nothing to change the circumstances. In seconds, Adelia has me trapped against the blade of her sword.

"That was clever," I admit.

"Thanks, Remi. But I'm still scared of those careers." Her tone tells me right away that she's terrified. So am I.

I let out a fake laugh. "Nothing we can do. They've been training for years and we've been training for three days. If we're lucky, they'll all die before we have to face them. There's only four this year anyway," I kind of sound like I'm trying to reassure myself. The more I speak, the colder the blood seems to run through my veins.

It's a long time before Adelia responds. "Our alliance can't go on forever… what if… would you ever…"

The awkward silence leaves me extremely discomforted.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Sangria, Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Pranksters 'R' Us: Pixel, Hopper**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Joule, Dory, Cyan, Adelaide, Arthur, Lexus, Lincoln, Twilla, Caden, Harper, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **So the training days are now over! Private sessions are next :D**

 **Question 1: What animal is used as the target at the scythe station?**

 **Question 2: True or false: Cerise is younger than Lincoln.**


	21. Private Sessions

**District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

"Turn it just a little. No, the other way. Right there. Tilt it up for me."

Declan's hands move the mirror up and down, his movements so sudden that he almost drops the mirror. I reach into my pocket and snatch out the make-up I snuck into the private sessions from my dorm upstairs. I apply a quick coating of foundation and a bit of mascara before sliding the gloss over my lips.

"Sangria Ashworth of District 1, please report for individual assessment." Head Gamemaker Draymond Armidale's voice plays in my ears, sounding like he's right behind me. I swivel my head around, but he's not there. The acoustics of the training center are exceptional.

I shove the make-up back into my pocket and stroll slowly into the gymnasium.

An intense sort of tension closes its fist around the room. My eyes catch onto the glisten of a cart of daggers about ten yards away. Giving no shortage of flirty winks, I saunter toward the cart and snatch up the first two daggers I come across.

I pounce toward the dummy and bury my first dagger into its shoulder. A quick peek upward is enough to tell me that I've caught the gamemakers' attention. Draymond himself sits as cold as stone in the center of the crowd, his hard gaze set on me.

By the time my second dagger finds a home in the dummy's chest, I've managed to wrench out my first one, slamming it into the cloth less than a foot from its comrade.

At once, I yank both daggers from the dummy. They're planted in there well. When I finally pull them out, I stumble backward, landing on the tiled floor.

Pain wrings through me. A few of the gamemakers laugh, and I feel the color rise in my face.

I try to kick myself to my feet, very conscious of how the good twenty people are staring at me with their lips curled into amused smiles. But my feet slide too much across the tile and my back slams against the ground once more.

Once I finally get to my feet, I grab the cart of daggers. If I've already ruined the session I might as well go out with style. I bolt toward the dummy with the cart in front of me. The gamemakers are hushed. I let go of the cart. It wheels across the ground and collides with the dummy, sending the table and the several mannequins on top of it flying backward into the wall.

The buzzer rings, indicating that my time is up. With a flick of my blonde ponytail, I strut out of the gymnasium.

A look at the mirror tells me that my make-up is horribly smudged. My insides crinkle up inside of me as I struggle to remove everything before the next tribute is called.

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

After a lot of consideration, I've decided to play the role of a steadfast classic. My mentor's been telling me since the train ride that I have to play to my strengths, but who's ever heard of a District 2 girl who uses poisons? Swordplay is the way to go, even if it's not what I do best.

"Jaehaera Blackfyre of District 2, please report for individual assessment."

The gamemakers stare down at me. I stare back up at them. Coldly. Like I don't give a crap about any of these pre-games rituals. Like I'm above this whole thing.

Jaw set and lips formed into a solid line, I snatch up one of the longer and sleeker swords at the sword station. A trainer rushes into the gymnasium, grabs up a sword of his own, and pounces toward me.

The thrill of the battle courses through my veins, making my blood turn cold with excitement. The trainer slashes his sword to the left, aiming for my torso. I manage to knock his blade out of the way with a strike of my own.

His grip wobbles, and I only need one more strike to send his weapon flying out of his hand. It clatters to the floor about twenty feet away.

The trainer reaches for his backup weapon. Before he can grab it, I thrust my sword outward and place it gently against the back of his neck. He chuckles, as if impressed. I never let his gaze leave mine as he walks out of the room without his sword.

Figuring I might as well go through with the sword thing for the rest of the session, I ask for a dummy. An avox rushes in with one. The instant she disappears, I thunder toward the fake person, sword above my head.

With a heavy slice, I manage to lop off part of the dummy's head. The slab of silicon slowly slides off down the slope of the angled cut. I place my sword under it, splitting the chunk of material in half as it falls.

I'm eager to destroy the dummy the rest of the way, but the buzzer rings before I have time.

I walk backward out of the gym, casting my signature cold look at the gamemaker team until they disappear from sight.

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

Pixel looks confident as she strolls out of the gym. Her arms are crossed in front of her, and she wears a smile that can only be described as smug.

"How many gamemakers are there?" I ask. "How much time do you have? What weapons can you use?"

I always ask questions when I'm nervous. Now, I'm more nervous than I can ever remember being in my life. My private session is next. In less than a minute I'll be standing in front of the gamemakers.

Pixel shrugs. "There's about twenty of 'em. You get fifteen minutes. You can show them whatever you want as long as you finish in the time limit."

I rest my chin on my knees. I just need more time to think! That's all I need.

"Cyan Costas of District 4, please report for individual assessment."

Shaking fiercely, I get to my feet and walk into the gym. If only I'd spent more time preparing for this!

I look frantically around. There are the throwing knives: I'm good enough at throwing knives. Then again, I only spent one training day practicing with them. I can start a fire well enough, but I'm not sure whether the station will have matches or not.

It must be thirty seconds before I finally decide to head for the fire starting station. I crouch down and grab the firewood. I try to form the image of the holographic instruction screen in my head, but I'm too anxious for the picture to be clear.

After I finish lining the firewood in a tent-like shape, I realize that I forgot to start with smaller pieces of tinder. Aw, shoot! Shoot, shoot, shoot!

Thankfully, the station provides a box of matches. Figuring I have to improvise if I want to impress Draymond and the other gamemakers in the time limit, I come up with something unique. I sprinkle the surface of the tent shape with small, dry needles and then drop a match onto the top. As the flame begins to burn, I pile more and more needles on top. By the time my supply runs out, some of the logs have started to catch fire.

I walk over to the throwing knives after stamping out the fire.

 _Deep breaths, Cyan. Deep breaths._

My first knife lands only a few inches from the bull's eye of the wooden target. I glance upward and see Draymond raise his eyebrows as if impressed. My next shot is not nearly as accurate. I barely hit the target, and the knife lands several feet from the central point.

Before I can throw another knife, my buzzer sounds. As I trek out of the gym, I'm not sure how to feel. On one hand, that could have gone a lot worse. On the other hand, it could have gone a lot better. I could have showed the gamemakers a variety of different weapons instead of just throwing knives. And I could have at least remembered to start with smaller fuel first and build my way up to a complete fire!

Maybe I'm worrying too much. But I just hope I'm not the weakest link in the outlier crop this year.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

When I think about it, my entire life has been a game of camouflage. Ever since I ran away from the orphanage, I've been trying desperately to blend into the crowd and keep from being spotted by the peacekeepers. More times than I can count, I've had to duck into the shadows to hide from the baker when he walks in one of my bread stealing escapades. Why stop now?

"Lincoln Blitz of District 6, please report for individual assessment."

The second I walk into the gymnasium, I set my eyes on the camouflage station. The table covered with brushes and inks is situated in the dead center of the gym. That means I'll hopefully have the gamemakers' undivided attention.

I sit down in the chair and immediately get to work. I grab a jar of paint that matches my skin tone and begin layering it onto my arm with a thick brush. I try to make the lines as uneven as possible, just as the underlying colors of a tree branch would be uneven in nature.

Once the entire arm is covered, I grab the dark brush and start tracing over the folds of my skin. Whenever I spot a vein through my flesh, I cover it with the brush. When I've finished, my arm has transformed into a web of dark strands crisscrossing over a light backdrop.

Finally, I snatch up the jar of grey finishing powder. I sprinkle the grey powder over my arm and gently blow on it. As it moves, it not only colors the skin but also lightly smudges some of the bolder inks.

According to the clock, I have just over seven minutes left in my session.

I quickly breeze through the edible plants station. I was expecting a high score, and I'm not let down. I pass the edible plants test with flying colors and a flawless score. I've had to eat a lot of plants and bugs on the streets.

To fill the remaining three minutes of the session, I head to the fire starting station. I'm not the best at fire starting, but I still have some experience from training… I think it was Day 2 that I practiced starting fires?

I'm not expecting to get through the whole thing, and this is proven true in minutes. My buzzer rings, leaving me with a half-completed pile of tinder and an untouched box of matches.

I picture tonight's television broadcast in my head. The name "Lincoln Blitz" comes onto the screen. But what is my score? I'm hoping for at least a six, but maybe the gamemakers won't be so generous to a District 6 tribute. Then again, scoring low might be an advantage. The stronger tributes won't make a low-scoring tribute a target. Maybe being a weaker tribute has its perks after all.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

I take a deep breath, feeling my chest rise as the cold air floods into my lungs. There's nothing I can do to stop my heart from pounding as hard as it is. But I suppose I can try to contain my uneven, shaky breaths.

"Cerise Yew of District 7, please report for individual assessment."

I tug in one more huge breath before walking into gym. The axes are just where they were when Erik and I trained together.

I tell myself that this is just another session of axe practice with Erik. I'm going to grab one of the axes and fight the best I can against the trainer. I'm usually good at controlling my emotions. But even so, it's hard to ignore the calculated and watchful gazes of the gamemakers from above.

The axe feels colder in my hands than ever before. My breath condenses on the metal blade as a trainer walks into the room, already holding one of his own.

Our axes clash in midair and it seems like the fight is won from the start. His axe is much larger than mine, so of course he would have the advantage, but he's also fast and agile. I'm pretty agile myself, but for the first few seconds I'm too shocked to deploy anything Erik taught me in training.

This reminds me of the bench press back in the school gym in District 7. I can't push the trainer farther away. I can just hold him where he is, swinging my axe in front of me and praying that some burst of energy will find its way into me.

Finally, I manage an edge. I spontaneously jump onto the table of the axe station. Blades clatter against the countertop as my footsteps rock them back and forth.

The trainer falls back a few inches, the slightest hint of shock in his gaze—just what I need to win the duel. Noticing how loose his axe grip is getting, I snatch the weapon out of his hand.

I trap him between the two axes, feeling my lips forming themselves into a smile of triumph.

The loud sound of the buzzer has me strolling out of the gym with my head held high.

Back in the waiting room, Erik gives me a small smile. I drop down next to him, returning a smile of my own.

"How'd it go?" he asks.

"Well enough," I respond. "Definitely better than I expected."

Erik takes a swig of water from his thermos. "Axes, right?"

"Yep."

"How long did the duel last?"

These questions are starting to overwhelm me. It feels weird spilling so many secrets to a fellow tribute, but hey. Erik is my ally! If I had to pick, he's the tribute I most trust.

"The whole session," I answer after a short silence.

He raises his eyebrows. "Did the gamemakers seem impressed?"

"Dunno. I wasn't paying attention.

"Good luck with your training score, Cerise," Erik says.

"Good luck." And I mean it. I'm grateful to have a friend in the games, and I'm grateful that I won't be entirely alone in the harsh weeks to come.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

"Luc Everett of District 9, please report for individual assessment."

I feign absolute confidence as I stride into the gymnasium. I immediately head over to the camouflage station. But I have no intents of painting my arms. I grab one of the jars of paint and head over to the sickle station. Before I start using the sickle on the dummy, I dip the tip of the blade in the black paint.

My first slash creates a long line of dark paint across the dummy's chest. There's quite a bit of difference between fighting a stationary dummy and fighting a human, but I figure whenever I have to kill I can just pretend that I'm killing a dummy like I am right now.

The minutes trickle past. All the while, the gamemakers peer down at me from above. I can feel their gaze on me, like they're inspecting and analyzing every move I make.

When only five minutes are left in my session, I set down the sickle. The dummy is covered with dozens of crisscrossing black lines. Several puncture wounds also litter the mannequin.

Deciding that showing off as many skills as possible will increase my odds of earning a high score, I head over to the knife station. On the way, my eyes catch onto the edible plants station. I quickly pull them away. The survival stations kind of seem like a waste of time, especially considering that I already know a lot about them. It's not like I'll really need them if I get good sponsors and a bountiful turnout from the initial bloodbath.

I'm way more shocked than I should be that the knife station has tons of varieties of knives. There are short, stubby ones; curved ones the length of my arm; and ones meant for throwing. My fingers hover over the blades before finally scooping up one of the longer hunting knives.

A trainer walks into the room, already in possession of a knife of his own. I run toward him holding my long hunting knife in front of me. The trainer quickly shifts out of the way. My blade lightly touches his shoulder, barely drawing blood and likely not even inflicting pain.

My buzzer rings before I can do anything else impressive.

The walk out of the gym is much easier than the walk in. Well that's behind me. I wonder what score I'll receive. I don't think I was that impressive, but I don't think I put up a poor performance either. I'm hoping to be in the top half.

* * *

 **Here are private sessions! Once again I didn't include every tribute, but I hope that this gave you a rough idea of what the sessions are like for these tributes.**

 **Before I start writing the training scores, I just want to put out a little disclaimer. Most of your tributes will receive scores equal to or very near what the submitters put in their forms. But some will receive lower scores than suggested and some will receive higher. I need lots of weak tributes and lots of strong tributes to help the story along. If your tribute receives a different score than you suggested, please do not take personal offense. As shown by past Hunger Games, tributes with low scores aren't counted out. Not by a long shot :D**

 **Question 1: What is the current head gamemaker's full name?**

 **Question 2: Which of the 23 other tributes does Cerise most trust?**


	22. Training Scores

**President Talen Pov-**

"Have you finalized the training scores, Draymond?"

"We're working on them, sir," Draymond answers, swiveling around in his chair. "This is the list we're pretty sure we'll use, but we might have to make a few changes."

He hands me a sheet of paper listing the tributes' training scores. I read the list over and nod slowly.

"I don't think any adjustments need to be made, Draymond" I say.

"Yes, Mr. President. I'll run these over to Caesar right now."

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

"From District 1, Declan Benitoit with a score of **9**!"

That's not a bad score. I was hoping for a ten, of course, but I guess some of the careers have to score lower. Besides, I'll almost certainly score higher than my district partner.

"That's a great score. You should be proud," says my mentor, Porcelain. But his expression tells me that he's disappointed in me. He wanted me to score a ten too. I hope I can pull off something ten-worthy in the arena, though I'm not sure what that could be.

* * *

 **District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

"Also from District 1, Sangria Ashworth with a score of **8**!"

My mentor Iuna glares at me with a look that says _you have got to be kidding me._

"What?" I say, picking up my mirror and gliding the lip gloss over my lips. "That's better than all of the outliers will earn."

"And lower than all of the other careers will earn," Iuna rebuts. But I don't care. Looking pretty is more important than being vicious, in my opinion.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

"From District 2, Nero Ryker with a score of **10**!"

I feel a smile creep onto my face, accompanied by explosions of applause from my escort and mentor.

"That's a fantastic score, Nero!" our escort compliments.

"Thanks."

The image of my parents and my brother Clay forms in my mind, and a wave of assurance washes over me that I'll be seeing them again soon.

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

"Also from District 2, Jaehaera Blackfyre with a score of **10**!"

Take that, Daeron. You only scored a 9. Take that, Rhaenys. I'm sure you're back home with steam pouring out of your ears. I imagine her smashing the television and a smile finds its way onto my face.

"Wow!" our escort remarks. "Tens for both of you! One of you will win, I'm sure of it."

I gaze over at Nero. She's right. One of us is going to win. And it's not going to be him.

* * *

 **District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

Seeing the scores of the careers makes my blood run cold with dread. Two nines and two tens. That's what I'm up against if I want to make it home.

"From District 3, Joule Merchiers with a score of **3**!"

Tears burn the back of my eyes. I'm hopeless. I'm going to die.

Pixel pats me on the back. "I guess you're just acting weak so the others won't target you, right?"

I feign a frown of disappointment. "Aw. You found me out."

"Don't worry. I won't tell any of the others." Pixel winks.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

"Also from District 3, Pixel Watt with a score of **7**!"

My mentor drops the snacks he's holding, his mouth hanging open in awe. Silence closes its fist around the room, only punctuated by my soft giggles. Twelve-year-olds scoring as high as I have is extremely rare.

I may look small, but I know more about mechanics than many people know. Taking parts from my grandfather's workshop has helped me a lot more than many people might expect.

"Great score, Pixel," Joule says at last, frowning with disappointment.

I don't say anything about the tears that start streaming down his face. That would only make a heavier situation even heavier.

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

"From District 4, Cyan Costas with a score of **6**!"

I stare at the screen. 6!

My mentor gives me a fist bump. "Real cool, man."

I pull away, but he insists that we fist bump exactly six times. A testament to the cool element of him that I love.

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

"Also from District 4, Dory Krillgood with a score of **6**!"

"Woohoo! Matching scores," I shout to Cyan.

Cyan just nods and smiles back. But it's a fake smile, and not the kind I'm hoping to see. I kind of failed flirting with him in the training center, but it can't hurt to try one more time, can it?

I rack my brain for a few good pickup lines.

* * *

 **District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-**

"From District 5, Arthur Wattson with a score of **5**!"

I feel the color rise in my face. That horrible poor girl from District 3 scored higher than me! And that boy from District 4! I don't think either of them have ever washed in their lives.

I cross my arms in front of my body and lean against the back of the sofa, refusing to respond to the congratulations of my mentor, escort, and district partner.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

"Also from District 5, Adelaide Hampton with a score of **7**!"

"Wow, Adelaide!" my escort remarks. "That's a great score! How'd you earn it?"

I just shrug, thinking about the way I blasted the dummys' limbs off with my dart gun in my private session. "I'm not telling. It's going to be a surprise for the arena."

"I can't wait," she says with a smile. I smile back, and it's a genuine. I'm happy with a 7. I'm sure some of the stronger tributes will score higher, but being among the strongest outliers is a slippery slope. I'm glad to be where I am.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

"From District 6, Lincoln Blitz with a score of **6**!"

"Cool. Matches the district number," our escort says.

"Thank you."

"Yep. A great score," my mentor Apollo adds.

"Thank you."

For me, survival is second nature. Being an orphan for years has taught me a lot of what I need to survive. And in the end, the Hunger Games is just one big games of survival, right?

* * *

 **District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

"Also from District 6, Lexus Beltran with a score of **5**!"

I set my jaw. A 5 isn't the score I was hoping for. I guessed that I would get a 6. 7 was too high, but not completely out of the question.

Anyway, I suppose a 5 won't be the worst score this year. It would have been nice to outscore my district partner, though.

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

"From District 7, Erik Nordskov with a score of **8**!"

My mentor and escort burst into applause.

"8? That's the highest outlier score yet!" our escort bellows, shaking in her seat like it's covered with ants.

But my brain drowns out her compliment. I'm just thinking about how proud Rhiannon must be right now.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

"Also from District 7, Cerise Yew with a score of **7**!"

I can hardly believe my eyes. I blink hard to make sure that my eyes are working. But the number 7 is still there, spinning and flickering on the screen.

Erik's taught me a lot over the three days we've trained together. I just hope he's taught me enough.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

"From District 8, Caden Yarnn with a score of **4**!"

Oh, well. I was never expecting a high score anyway. No use crying over spilled milk.

The first thing I do is run over to the cookie machine and stuff two lemon-flavored ones into my mouth. Might as well make the most out of my last moments.

* * *

 **District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

"Also from District 8, Twilla Weaver with a score of **3**!"

"You tried your best," Caden smiles. He leans over to give me a reassuring pat on the back, but I pull away from him. I'm just too sad to talk right now.

I just hope the other outliers will be strong. Kids who can do all the hunting while I do all the hiding.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

"From District 9, Luc Everett with a score of **8**!"

I'm happy with that, more than happy, actually. Only one other tribute has scored an 8 so far.

The other people in the room compliment me, but I just rest my chin on my hands, thinking hard about what I'm going to do once the games begin.

* * *

 **District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-**

"Also from District 9, Harper Lamb with a score of **3**!"

Oh well. I was never going to get a 12. Tears burn the backs of my eyes as I cover my face with my hands. Understanding truly dawns on me for the first time that I will never see my family again.

But I might get to see Dad soon, at least.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

"From District 10, Orford Shaw with a score of **7**!"

A scowl tumbles from my lips. I was at least hoping for a 9, or at least an 8!

I lock the door to my bedroom. Someone knocks, but I don't answer.

"Come out. You can't stay in there forever." It's my mentor, Margaret.

"Fine," I scowl, getting out of bed.

"That's a good score, Orford. You shouldn't be disappointed," Margaret says, peeking in through the doorframe.

I just sigh and walk to the fridge for a glass of water.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

"Also from District 10, Mavvi Levist with a score of **6**!" my interpreter Jenna signs.

I feel my eyes open wide. I was never expecting a score as high as a 6!

I stand up and give Jenna a big hug, thankful for the help she's been giving me across my days in the Capitol.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

"From District 11, Jaro Veldt with a score of **5**!"

I imagine Cora watching the scores on our television back home. I hope she's doing better than she was the day of the reaping. She looked worse on reaping day than I'd seen her in months.

And I hope she's proud that I earned a 5.

* * *

 **District 11: Adelia Faye (15) Pov-**

I'm jealous of Jaro. He's attracting all the attention for being the only volunteer outside the career pack. Being his district partner means that I'm overshadowed even more.

"Also from District 11, Adelia Faye with a score of **5**!"

So we both earned the same score. I guess that's a step, but I still can't help feeling a bit bitter.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

"From District 12, Hopper Vigo with a score of **1**!"

I'm a bit disappointed. I was hoping to get a 0. I suppose you can only get a 0 if you don't show up to your session. Like that boy last year who slept through his. I think he's the only tribute in history to earn a 0.

"Hopper, that's…" our escort looks mad to say the least.

"Incredible," I finish. "Imagine the headlines. 12 boy scores 1. Has a nice ring to it."

* * *

 **District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

"Also from District 12, Remi Gardner with a score of **7**!"

"That's spectacular," Hopper remarks, grinning.

"Yeah, hmmm… good," Haymitch mumbles, sucking the last few drops out of the glass bottle he's just finished.

I'm happy with that score. It places me in the top half of the tributes. And it's seven times what my district partner earned, so I suppose I've achieved something worthwhile.

* * *

 **Recap:**

 **0:**

 **1: Hopper**

 **2:**

 **3: Joule, Twilla, Harper**

 **4: Caden**

 **5: Arthur, Lexus, Jaro, Adelia**

 **6: Cyan, Dory, Lincoln, Mavvi**

 **7: Pixel, Adelaide, Cerise, Orford, Remi**

 **8: Sangria, Erik, Luc**

 **9: Declan**

 **10: Nero, Jaehaera**

 **11:**

 **12:**

* * *

 **Here are the scores! Any favorites? Any that surprised you? Next up is a little bit of interview prep and then the interviews.**

 **Question 1: What training score did Daeron, Jaehaera's brother, earn in his games?**

 **Question 2: What is Mavvi's interpreter's name?**


	23. Interview Prep

**District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

Elevators don't move sideways. They don't rocket downward so fast that you feel like throwing up. I'm most definitely not in an elevator.

I hold up my blue dress to keep it from dragging as I step out of the elevator into the backstage area of Caesar Flickerman's studio. Small stations are set up on the perimeter of the room. A tribute stands at each station, their stylists all patting on their makeup or smoothing out their costumes.

"What took you so long?"

I turn with a start. My stylist Silvera stands there, no doubt frustrated at my late arrival.

"I just felt a little sick," I reply.

"Never mind." Silvera flicks on the light, illuminating the mirror and the cosmetics sprinkled over the countertop. While she applies my makeup, Jace starts rubbing down my nails with a file. I get the distinct impression that I'm some celebrity about to go on a reality television show. The thing is, I pretty much am.

As I look at myself in the mirror, moving at my stylists' commands, I can't help but feel a little bummed. I haven't made a single ally since the games started, and I've flirted with half of the boys in the training center.

My eyes glance to the right, landing on the two District 7 tributes—what are their names? Erik and Cerise? It must feel great to have a companion at this point; the more I watch them, the more lonely I feel.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

"Good evening, ladies and—no, more cheerful!" Caesar scolds himself.

I smile, pressing my ear harder against the door. I'm not usually one to eavesdrop, but there's something distinctly satisfying about breaking the rules. Especially considering that I'll probably be dead in the next week.

Caesar begins to push open the door of his practice room, and I dance out of the way. I duck down behind a rack of props just in time.

"There you are! I've been looking for you!" Lacey shouts. The woman whose face holds enough makeup to paint a house grabs me by my neck like a kitten and pulls me to my feet. "We have to get these cuff links on you."

"Why do you have a right to tell me what I've got to do?" I snap, a newfound anger and confidence finding its way into me.

"I'm your stylist, Caden!" Lacey shouts back. "That means I can tell you what to do. Now hold out your sleeve."

"Fine."

As she adds the cuff links, spite burbles inside of me. I know it isn't sensible to be so mad at this one lady, especially considering she has the same name as my sister, but—no, I have to stop thinking about my sister. Thinking about my life back in 8 just hurts.

The people running around the dressing room get faster and faster as the timer gets closer to zero. All of the windows are open to let in the breezes from outside, but I'm sure the air is moving around inside far more given how panicked everyone is.

I just hope I can make my last few days count, whatever happens.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

I tap Luc twice on the shoulder. He turns around and faces me.

"Are you nervous?" I sign. Over the last few days, I've taught him a few words in sign language so that we can communicate. We rarely get to talk to each other because we're from separate districts. Shame, because he really is a good friend.

"No," he answers. "I'll just act… cold."

A laugh of realization tumbles from my lips. I never taught him the sign for the word "cool."

"You mean 'C-O-O-L'" I spell out.

Luc laughs. "Yes. C-O-O-L."

Another tribute steps onto stage, and we all move forward in line one space. My stomach flips with nervousness. My prep team has been insisting since the train ride that I act funny, but that's more than a little difficult when you're deaf like I am. And even if I could speak well I would never give the Capitol that satisfaction.

I suppose I can stand out in a different way than by acting funny. I don't want to act rebellious (that's a sure way to sign my death warrant)—I just want to show the Capitol that there's a part of me that they can't control.

Luc steps onto stage, and I'm left at the front of the line. My interview is next.

I take a deep breath, rehearsing what I'll say in my mind.

* * *

 **I hope this was a fun mini-chapter! Sorry there hasn't been an update in a while. I'm going to divide the interviews into three chapters, with eight tributes in each one. So all 24 kids will have their interview shown or at least summarized. Also, for those curious, there are six chapters remaining until the games begin: three chapters of interviews, the night before the games, inside the launch rooms, and one other surprise chapter which shall remain secret for now :D**

 **Question 1: What color is Dory's dress?**

 **Question 2: What is the name of Caden's stylist?**


	24. The Interviews Part 1

**Zetta Diamons Pov-**

In the five years I've been watching the Hunger Games with my little sister Sasha, I've never once taken her to see the interviews until now. They're too far away from our house, and our Mom and Dad don't like leaving us alone because we're so young. But now that I'm thirteen they've agreed to let me take Sasha out to see them.

"When will it start?" Sasha asks, swinging her eight-year-old legs.

"Patience, Sasha. There's the music now."

Caesar Flickerman leans forward in a deep bow. The audience bursts into applause. As he rises up again, his midnight-blue hair swivels around his heart-shaped face.

"Good evening, Panem!" Caesar shouts.

More applause.

"Tonight, we will all get to know our competitors a little better, as a three-minute interview is provided for each tribute. First, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 1's Sangria Ashworth!"

The girl struts on to stage, bringing on a sigh of veneration. Her mostly see-through white gown swirls around her feet as she sits down across from Caesar, flicking her blonde ponytail over her shoulder.

"How are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" Caesar asks.

"Great!" the girl replies. "And I can't wait to be back here in a week or two."

"Oh, so you're confident?"

"Well, yes… I haven't been training since I was little just to die in the games." The girl's tone is far too flirtatious to feel cocky, though it certainly makes me feel a bit uncomfortable.

A chorus of laughter is raised from the audience at her remark.

Caesar clears his throat. "What's your favorite part of the Capitol?"

Sangria wrinkles her forehead as if thinking hard. "The lights at night."

Before she can explain further, her buzzer sounds, and she zips off of the stage.

"Next we have the other half of the District 1 team, Declan Benitoit!"

Declan swaggers into the spotlight. He wears a tight suit made of a shiny silver material, and a cosmic black tie runs down his front.

"My, you look great today!" Caesar remarks.

"Thanks," Declan responds. "And I'd like everyone to give a round of applause to my stylist for fitting me into everything."

A wave of soft laughter and clapping rolls over the audience.

"Got a girlfriend?" Caesar says so suddenly it's kind of comedic.

The boy blushes for a millisecond, but he quickly regains himself; his handsome smile returns before long.

"Nope. If I like someone, they know it. I'm pretty straightforward that way."

No sooner has the boy's buzzer sounded than he begins his journey off of the stage.

"Let's put our hands together for District 2's Jaehaera Blackfyre!"

Jaehaera walks onto stage wearing a deep violet skirt. A black sash runs across her torso, and glittering polish decorates her nails.

"You look beautiful." Caesar fawns over the girl's look.

"Thanks. I love the dress too. Too bad I'm not allowed to keep it," she responds. There's something cold about her voice that I can't quite place. Something that tells me she thinks she's above all this pre-games stuff.

"Aww. You're not?"

Jaehaera shakes her head.

"So what do you think about the 83rd Hunger Games?"

The girl answers quickly. "They're great."

"And the tributes?"

"They're…"

The end of her sentence is never heard as the buzzer rings and she walks out of the spotlight.

"Next up is Nero Ryker, also of District 2!"

Nero walks onto stage wearing a dark-gold jacket. Something about the folds of the shirt reminds me of battle armor, and his shoes match his shirt.

"Nero Ryker!" Caesar shouts. "Please take a seat?"

The boy sinks down into the chair, making it look miniature.

"How are you liking the Capitol, Nero?"

"It's very… colorful," he replies after a long silence.

"And do you like the food?"

"It's very… tasty."

If he's intentionally answering vaguely, his plan is working. It just works to make him all the more intriguing.

"Are you willing to kill in the arena?" Caesar asks.

The boy answers quickly. "Yep. Only one tribute can go home, and it's going to be me."

"You're sure?"

He nods in confirmation. "Sure."

His buzzer sounds. Nero gives a salute to the clapping audience before leaving the stage.

"Next in the spotlight is Pixel Watt from District 3!"

Pixel starts onto the stage grinning. Her smile isn't uncomfortable—in fact, it seems friendly. The kind of smile a friend gives you when they're waiting for you to notice a trick they've pulled.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Pixel!"

She sinks down into the chair across from Caesar, her legs barely touching the floor.

"Are you ready for the games to begin?" Caesar asks, his hair swiveling around his face as he leans back in anticipation of her response.

"Yep," she replies, still smiling. "No point worrying about the future when I can't change it. Tomorrow isn't a given, you know."

The audience hums in agreement.

Caesar responds softly. "Those really are words to live by."

He leaves a few seconds for the audience to grow quiet before continuing.

"Did you leave anyone important back home?" he asks.

Pixel freezes. "Just my grandpa. I really miss him…"

The audience awwwwwwwws, and it's a long time before the girl's youthful smile returns.

Pixel jumps off of the stage when her buzzer sounds, looking excited and nervous at the same time.

"Next up in line is Joule Merchiers, also coming from District 3!"

Joule wears glasses that wrap around his entire face, and his short hair is slicked back. He wears a suit and tie that appear to be made of ground silver, and he's admittedly hard to look at without squinting.

"Joule Merchiers…" Caesar contemplates. "That's no ordinary name."

Joule laughs. "Well I'm no ordinary person."

Laughter.

"No, seriously, watch me!" Joule says, leaning forward in his chair.

I crane my neck to watch as he sticks out his pink tongue. He reaches his tongue upward and lightly taps the tip of his nose before raising his hands in triumph.

"I think we'd better award Joule the title of victor right now!" Caesar laughs.

"Now, Joule, I know we're all wondering about the boy who tried to volunteer for you at the reaping."

I'm shocked at how quickly the mood changes from cheerful to solemn.

"Yep. He was my brother," the boy explains, adjusting his glasses. "And I just hope I can come home to him."

"Well, I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say I'll be rooting for you in the arena."

Joule's buzzer sounds, and he quickly leaves the stage.

"We now have the privilege of hearing from District 4's Dory Krillgood!"

The small girl starts into view. She wears a blue dress that runs down to the ground, and her hair cascades in curls down her back.

"Now, Dory, I'm sure we're all very curious about how you earned a 6. 6es don't grow on trees, after all." Caesar has a short chuckle at his own joke.

"I have my ways," Dory says. "You'll just have to wait until the arena to see."

"Oh, I really do hate cliffhangers!" Caesar says.

A chorus of agreement rises from the audience.

"Did you leave anyone special back in District 4?" Caesar says, his face lighting with a devilish smile.

"My parents. My mom's a nurse. My dad's a fisher," the girl answers quickly.

"You know that's not the answer we're looking for. Anyone really special?"

"In that case," the girl continues, "there's nobody. Now, if you don't mind me asking, have you got a woman of your own to talk about?"

Caesar blushes through his white makeup, but the loud buzzer sounds before he can answer.

"Let's give a warm welcome to District 4's Cyan Costas!"

Cyan strolls onto center stage. His blue suit is decorated with a transfixing scale design, and several areas of his hair are dyed turquoise.

"How are you doing, Cyan?" Caesar asks, his tone as though he's talking to a good friend.

"Lovely. Marvelous day, might I add," the boy answers, imitating a very fancy and posh Capitol accent. Several people laugh from different locations in the audience.

"Got anything planned for the games? Anything exciting?" Caesar continues.

Cyan resumes his default voice. "Nope. There's definitely going to be a lot of hunger, but that's in the name of the game. I can't predict much else."

"Ooh, sneaky use of statistics," Caesar notes. "If I wasn't smarter, I would've assumed you're from District 3!"

The two share a short laugh before the boy's buzzer sounds. Cyan glides off of the stage.

I recline my seat slightly backward, eagerly awaiting the next tribute's entrance.

* * *

 **Here are the first 8 tributes! 16 to go.**

 **Question 1: As a 16-18 year old, how long do you think you'd survive if you competed in the Hunger Games?**

 **Question 2: Which of the three Hunger Games novels is your favorite?**


	25. The Interviews Part 2

**Zetta Diamons Pov-**

"Please put your hands together for Adelaide Hampton from District 5!"

Adelaide struts onto center stage. She wears a spring green suit and blue heels, and her raven-black hair cascades down her back.

"You look great today, Caesar," she compliments.

"Hey! I'm supposed to say that to you! Are you stealing my lines?" Caesar jokes.

They share a laugh.

"I'm sure we'd like to get to know more about you, Adelaide. What's home like?"

The girl flinches as if a thought has popped into her mind she's trying to repress. She suddenly seems occupied making sure her sleeve covers her entire arm.

Caesar coughs.

"Oh," the girl jumps. "Home's great. Lots of, well, energy all around, you might say. And the bread is delicious. Certainly different than the kind you have here."

"And what's the bread like?"

Adelaide sounds like she's swallowed a cookbook. "It's kind of dark, almost red. Burnt a bit at the edges."

Her buzzer sounds, and Adelaide walks off of the stage.

"Please give a warm welcome to Arthur Wattson, also of District 5!" Caesar shouts.

The lanky Arthur strolls onto stage, wearing a dark blue suit. As he sits down across from Caesar, I get the distinct impression that he looks like a scarecrow.

"How was training?" Caesar asks.

Arthur answers quickly. "Nothing much."

"Come on, three whole days, there has to be something to talk about!"

"Oh, alright," the boy admits, his tone uncannily like a growl. "I mostly stayed to myself. The survival stations and such."

The way his face works afterward tells me that he's silently adding something that he wishes he could say out loud.

"And the other tributes?" Caesar continues.

"They're… great."

Arthur just seems to be getting madder and madder with each answered question. His face is as red as a beet by the time his buzzer sounds.

"Next up is Lexus Beltran from District 6!"

The girl walks onto the stage wearing a silver skirt and heels. A large hairpiece made up of a crooked wagon wheel is affixed to the back of her head, and by the looks of things it's extremely heavy and cumbersome. Caesar offers Lexus his help to sit down in the chair without the hairpiece falling off.

"I love your outfit. It's very… original," Caesar says.

"Thanks. My stylist is responsible and I can't thank her enough," she says, but something about her voice tells me she'd give all the money in Panem to take the thing off.

That's when I notice small words etched into the wagon wheel.

"What are those words?" Caeser asks.

"The names of the Hunger Games victors."

"How many are there?"

"All of them."

Caesar points out the names of a few memorable victors before asking another question. "So, Lexus…"

"Lexie," she corrects. "Call me Lexie."

"So, Lexie, do you have anyone special back home?"

"Yep. Her name's Cara and she's perfect."

A giggle rolls over the audience before her buzzer sounds, and it takes Caesar's help to get her out of the chair and off the stage.

"Also from District 6, we now have the pleasure of hearing from Lincoln Blitz!"

Lincoln comes into the spotlight. His warped green suit reminds me of camouflage, and he blends almost perfectly into the chair once he sits down.

Caesar leans back, as if shocked. "I see a floating head," he says. A chorus of laughter rises from the audience.

"How are you today, Lincoln?" he asks.

"Great. How are you today, Caesar?"

He answers, "I'm doing very well. The interviews are my favorite part of the pre-games activities."

"Why? Because you're on television?" Lincoln questions.

"Something like that," Caesar says with a laugh. "Now, I'm going to ask this for the sake of all the girls in the audience: is there anyone special back in 6?"

"Nope, there's nobody," he answers, blushing slightly.

"Really? Well, I know some people who that will make very happy."

There are a lot of giggles from the audience.

The buzzer rings before Caesar can ask Lincoln any more questions. He calls the name of the next tribute as soon as Lincoln leaves the stage.

"Next up is Cerise Yew from District 7!" Caesar screams.

Cerise struts onto the stage. A green pencil skirt embraces her legs, and she wears a light-blue blouse that twinkles as she sits down across from Caesar.

"So, Cerise, what do you think of the Capitol?" Caesar asks.

"I love it. The food's great. The beds are great. I'm just looking forward to making my family proud." The girl is putting on a very cute and sweet persona, but something about her tells me that she's faking it.

"Oh, so you've got family?"

Cerise nods. "My Aunt Wren and Uncle Jon. And my cousins Landon, Dorian, and Juniper." She counts the names of her family members off on her fingers.

"And what about your mother?"

The girl turns rock solid. "Dead."

Caesar frowns. "Father?"

"Dead."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Caesar says, his voice dripping with sympathy.

"Don't be. Being sad can't change the past. I'm just glad for the life I have," the girl says.

Caesar hums. "You certainly have a clear set of morals, Cerise."

Her buzzer booms. The audience claps her off of the stage, awaiting the next tribute's entrance.

"And now we have the privilege of hearing from District 7's Erik Nordskov!"

Erik sits across from Caesar. His handsome reddish-brown hair is flat down his forehead, and he wears a black tuxedo with khaki pants.

"What's up, Panem?" Erik shouts, staring at the nearest camera. The audience cheers as he sits down in the comfortable-looking chair.

Caesar doesn't waste time before asking his first question. "How did you feel when you were reaped?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes, please." Caesar leans forward as if to ensure he doesn't miss the boy's response.

"To tell you the truth, I was just glad to get out of that group project we have on Monday," Erik whispers.

The audience bursts into applause and laughter.

"Now, Erik, I think there's a certain someone we're all curious about," Caesar says. Once again, I'm surprised by how quickly the mood changes from cheerful to still. "That girl across from you… she looked more than a little distraught when your name was reaped."

"Oh, Rhiannon…" Erik purses his lips. "Well, I proposed to her earlier that day."

"And what did she say?"

"She said yes."

The audience hums with sympathy. Erik's buzzer sounds before he can elaborate further, and he quickly leaves the spotlight.

"Next up is Twilla Weaver from District 8!"

Twilla glides onto stage. Her outfit reminds me of that of a ballet dancer. Strips of lace wrap around her white gown, and her hair is sculpted into a bow.

"My…" Caesar says, humming with veneration. "Don't you look special."

Twilla sits down, and it hits me that this girl isn't a big strong tribute. She's just a little girl. She swings her feet which barely touch the ground, and her grin just grows as the interview wears on.

"Thank you," her eyes begin to sparkle.

"Now," Caesar says, "I've talked to your prep team and they tell me you have a certain something to show us all before your three minutes is up. Is this correct?"

The girl nods.

"Please," Caeser says.

Twilla climbs out of her chair and onto the floor. Suddenly, with surprising grace, she begins to dance. Even without music, there's something so beautiful about her movements. The audience sighs with each twirl and leap she makes, and she dances off of the stage when her buzzer rings, looking like she's just experienced the best night of her life.

"Also from District 8, please put your hands together for Caden Yarnn!"

Caden comes into view. His dark blue suit acts as a vibrant contrast to his golden bow tie.

"Caden! Please take a seat!" Caesar welcomes.

The boy sits.

"It's a pleasure to see you," Caesar says.

"It's a pleasure to see you too," Caden responds. "I've been enjoying the Capitol. It's very exciting."

"Glad to hear that," Caesar adds. "Do you miss your family?"

For the first time in the interview, the boy looks sad. "Yep. My Mom and Dad and Lacey."

"Who's Lacey?"

"Oh," the boy says. "I didn't clarify that. She's my sister. Her real name is Annalace, but that's a bit of a mouthful."

Caesar asks another question. "Do you have any talents the other tributes should look out for?"

Caden responds quickly. "I have sticky fingers."

"Sticky fingers?" Caesar says, feigning a look of revulsion.

The audience laughs.

"I mean I'm stealthy," the boy explains. "Very good at remaining unnoticed."

The boy's buzzer is his signal to leave center stage.

* * *

 **Here are the next 8! After the interviews are over I'll post the sponsor system on my profile. So you can have a look at what items you can buy before the games actually begin. Please review if you can :D**

 **Question 1: Do you think the Mockingjay film would have been better as only one movie instead of being split into 2 parts?**

 **Question 2: If you were a strong tribute and were offered a spot in the career alliance, would you accept or deny?**


	26. The Interviews Part 3

**Zetta Diamons Pov-**

"Next, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 9's Harper Lamb!"

Harper strides onto the stage, wearing a golden skirt reminiscent of sparkling grain. With her chocolate-colored hair and dark eyes, there's no doubt that she's a beautiful girl.

"Caesar," she says, nodding in greeting. "This certainly is a comfortable chair." The audience laughs. "What do you say we call off the interviews to let me sit here all night?"

Caesar chuckles. "Brought your sense of humor, didn't you?"

"Yep. You want some?" Harper reaches into her ear as if about to pull something out.

"No, no, no!" Caesar urges, holding out his hands, "you keep it. You can use it better than me. I haven't got a funny bone in my body."

Harper frowns. "Who told you that? I think you're great."

"Thank you, Harper. Have you got family back in 9?" Caesar asks.

The girl nods in response. "Just my mother. My father passed away years ago."

A hum of sympathy rises from the audience.

"Never mind. Being sad about the past can't change it."

With that final quote, Harper's buzzer instructs her to make way for the next tribute.

"Please put your hands together for Luc Everett, also from District 9!"

Luc walks onto the stage, wearing the gold color of District 9 in his suit and bow tie.

"Luc! Please have a seat!"

The audience claps as they shake hands, and Luc sinks into the soft chair once the cheers die down.

"Caesar! What a surprise seeing you here," Luc chimes. I get the impression from his voice tone that he's more than a little confident.

"Tell me, Luc, what's your favorite part of the Capitol so far?"

"Probably the beds in the training center. They're so comfortable!" is the boy's response.

"I'll say." Caesar offers the boy a laugh. "Have you met any interesting tributes?"

Luc hums. "Quite a few, actually. I haven't made any allies, though."

"Aw, that's a shame. But there's nothing wrong with going solo. Nothing at all."

Luc nods.

Caesar asks his next question soon thereafter. "I think we're all more than a little curious about how you scored an 8! How did you do it?"

Luc lets out a short laugh. "I have my ways. Besides, I'd be cheating if I told you before the games began. I have more than a few tricks up my sleeves."

The buzzer sounds, and Luc leaves the stage.

"Next up is Mavvi Levist from District 10!"

Mavvi walks into the spotlight, wearing a ruffled cow-print skirt and cowgirl boots. She doesn't say a word as she sits down across from Caesar, glaring at the audience.

"What's your favorite part of home, Mavvi? The thing you miss most?"

The girl doesn't respond. She just stares at the audience, her eyes coldly boring over each person, a hate so strong inside of them.

Caesar laughs awkwardly. "I see you're not making this easy for me."

Mavvi refuses to acknowledge Caesar's existence. It's a relief to be free of her poisonous gaze when her buzzer sounds. Even so, there's something about her that I can't help but admire.

Luckily, Caesar is resilient; he isn't one to be any less cheerful after a minor setback.

"We have the privilege of hearing from Orford Shaw from District 10!"

The muscular boy lumbers onto the stage, and Caesar's five foot six looks like nothing compared to Orford's height.

"Orford! Who's your favorite Capitolite you've met so far?" Caesar asks.

The boy sits down. "Probably my stylist, Julia."

Caesar feigns a look of offense. "The correct answer was Caesar Flickerman, but I'll go with that answer as well."

A rumble of laughter runs through the audience.

"And who's your best friend back home in 10?"

"Buck."

"That's all we get? Tell us more about Buck."

Orford is clearly trying to suppress thoughts of home, but he reluctantly responds to Caesar's request. "I work with him in this butcher's shop down the street from where I live. You know how long the shifts are. A little camaraderie makes the day go faster."

"I understand," Caesar assures the boy, nodding. "But what I don't understand is how you earned that 7 in your private session. Can you let us in on your secret?"

The boy just laughs. "I could, but that'd spoil the fun. I want to leave all you people on the edge of your seats." Orford gestures toward the audience, casting an aura of mysteriousness.

"I think I speak for all of us when I say I'm excited to find out."

He leaves the stage, making room for the next tribute.

"Please welcome Adelia Faye, coming from District 11!" Caesar shouts.

Adelia starts into the spotlight. She wears a spring-green suit and a ruffled blue skirt, and she seems to sparkle as she sinks into the chair.

"Adelia…" Caesar contemplates. "I think I recognize that name from somewhere."

The girl laughs. "Yep. Adelaide from 5 and I have similar names."

"Have you talked to her yet?" Caesar asks.

Adelia nods. "She really is a great girl."

Of course, Caesar has his next question in reserve.

"Do you think you have an advantage or a disadvantage coming from District 11?"

Adelia contemplates for a long time before responding. "I'll say I have an advantage. Working in the fields and such has taught me a lot of what I need to know in the ways of combat. And District 11 has a lot of people. I know what kinds of people I can trust and which I can't."

"Wow!" Caesar remarks. "You're a clever girl!"

"Thanks," Adelia says. "Outwitting the other tributes on my way to victory isn't off the table. Don't count me out."

"Oh, you know I would never do that."

The girl's buzzer commands that she leave the spotlight.

"Next is the interview of Jaro Veldt, also from District 11!"

Jaro struts onto center stage. His sparkling silver suit is brought out by his tie, which looks to be made of a matte copper-like color of fabric. Applause rings as he shakes hands with Caesar before taking a seat.

"Jaro Veldt! Let's start off by addressing the elephant in the room. What brought you to volunteer at the reaping?"

I can instantly tell that Caesar has trespassed on personal territory. Jaro freezes, clutching the sides of the chair so hard that his knuckles turn white. When he releases, it's several seconds before the cloth of the chair rises to its original shape.

"Well, my family… you know, there've been hard times lately, and... my family…" I can't help but feel bad for the boy as he stumbles over his words, looking as though holding back tears.

"Deep breaths," Caesar instructs. "Don't get nervous. We're all just here to have a great time."

Jaro swallows hard. "My sister Cora's had this disease since she was born. Don't ask me how to pronounce it. I can't. But it's been getting bad lately, and her body's kind of getting tolerant to the medicine. The only way we can get her treatment is for me to win."

"And how do you feel being the only volunteer outside of the four career tributes?" Caesar continues.

"Great," he says in a tone that his most definitely not great. "It makes me one to remember."

It seems as though all of Jaro's stuttering has taken up most of the interview, because the three minutes is over in a flash.

"Please put your hands together for Remi Gardner from District 12!" Caesar sings.

The 12 girl struts into the spotlight. Her miner's outfit is dirty and torn, and she looks unhappy with a thin layer of coal dust caked across her face.

"My! Caesar remarks. "What a spectacular costume!"

Remi nods, looking strained. "I'd like for… all you fine people… to give a round of applause to… my stylist… for this… great… costume."

The audience breaks into applause.

"What's weighing you down, Remi? Anything I can help you with?"

"These pickaxes are just… so… heavy!" she responds.

"You can set them down if you like," Caesar offers.

"Thank you!"

She looks like a pile of rocks has been lifted off of her as she sets the heavy tools at the foot of her chairs, finally able to breathe freely.

"How's life back home in 12, Remi Gardner?" Caesar asks, his first real question of the interview.

"Just swell," she answers.

"Have you got family?"

She nods. "Mom and Dad. Four siblings: Willow, Cal, Nash, and Ali."

Laughs run through the audience, likely coming from Capitolites who grew up with many siblings who can relate.

"Are you willing to kill?" Caesar asks. The question is so sudden that it's almost comedic.

Remi nearly leaps out of her chair at first, but quickly composes herself. "I suppose. But only when it's absolutely necessary. I guess I'm not afraid to cut my way out of the crop when the time comes."

Remi's buzzer goes off: her signal to abandon the spotlight.

"Last but not least, Hopper Vigo of District 12!"

Hopper comes into the spotlight, flanked by two peacekeepers like wingmen. They stand on either side of his chair as he sits down, and I distinctly notice that the pockets of his suit are sewn shut.

"How are you doing today, Hopper?" Caesar asks, looking a little nervous.

"Great. How are you?"

"Good." Caesar appears relieved that the interview is going well so far.

"Hmmm…" Hopper contemplates. "Can't quite tell how that can be. That's a lie. I can. I suppose every day in your useless lives is great."

There are gasps from the audience, and shock runs through me at the sheer attitude of the boy.

"But I suppose I can't blame you, especially considering you admire that imbecile you call a president. You know he had this affair with…"

"That's enough, kiddo!" one of the peacekeepers shouts. "Get up!"

Hopper obediently gets to his feet and marches off of the stage, his interview less than halfway finished.

Caesar swallows hard and gets to his feet. "That's all for tonight, folks. Tune in at six o'clock tomorrow morning, when the eighty-third annual Hunger Games will commence. Have a great night, Panem!"

I turn to Sasha. "Did you like the interviews?"

Sasha grins. "Zetta, it was _beautiful_! Can they do it again?"

* * *

 **Thanks for reading all of the interview chapters, even though they may have grown a little repetitive near the tail-end. The sponsor system should be on my profile shortly, so check that out if you like. There are only three chapters left until the games start :D**

 **Question 1: If you were a tribute, would you have allies or go solo in the games?**

 **Question 2: After reading the sponsor system on my profile, which district's bread sounds the tastiest?**


	27. The Night Before

**District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

I shift my dinner nervously across the plate, trying not to shake. As the bloodbath draws nearer and nearer, the games are becoming more real for me. It's almost like I've been slapped in the stomach. For the first few seconds, you don't feel anything. I wasn't scared at the reaping because the surprise and my eagerness to get a look at the Capitol overpowered it. But now that the games are about to begin, a cold feeling runs through my veins that I can only classify as terror.

"Eat," my mentor, Wiress, instructs, peering up from her own, half-eaten dinner. "Best to get as much into your stomach as possible before the games start."

I push away from my dinner and slide into the living room, tears burning the backs of my eyes. I can't shake the thoughts of Gamma and Giga and Grandpa out of my mind: I can't think of anything I wouldn't give to see each one them just once.

I sit down on the sofa and immediately hear footsteps behind me. I turn around slowly.

"Hi," Joule says. "Don't worry. I'm nervous just like you. Can I sit?"

I nod, moving the pillows on the couch to make room for him.

"So," Joule says, running his finger over the seam of the couch. "We're both in this together."

I don't say anything. I can't bear the thought of watching Joule die. Or any of the other tributes. This whole thing is so unfair!

"Pixel."

I ignore him.

"Pixel!"

"What is it?"

Joule clears his throat. "I'm pretty sure this is the last time we'll see each other, so—may the odds be ever in your favor, right?"

I just nod slowly, not exactly comforted.

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

I toss and turn in bed, unable to fall asleep. One second, the room is far too hot, and the next it's far too cold. One pillow is too flat, but two pillows is uncomfortable. Horrified thoughts of the weeks to come keep popping into mind, and I can't force them out even fighting with all of my willpower.

I gaze at the clock. It's exactly 3:00 A.M. The games begin in three hours.

I figure that taking a quick walk around the suite can't hurt. I slide out of bed and slink over to the living area.

A scream catches itself in my throat. Somebody is already sitting there, staring at the fire with eyes so wide and tired and filled with dread.

"Cerise," I mutter, sinking into the couch across from her.

It's a long time before Cerise responds. "Are you nervous?"

"Just a little," I lie.

"You mean you're terrified."

I just nod. "You've got me. But being scared can't change the future, remember?"

"That was my line," Cerise spits, feigning a look of offense. "But it's not true."

"Sure it's true."

"No, it's not," she insists, shivering and moving closer to the fire. "Fear has been programmed into us since the dawn of our species. It's what keeps us alive. And that's what the games are all about. Fear. Intimidating us. Making us feel… weak!"

I fall back a bit farther against the back cushion of the sofa. She's not wrong. Fear can cut deeper than any knife.

"Cerise."

"Yes, Erik?"

"Can we talk a little about strategy for the games?" I say.

Cerise shivers and lets out a choked cry. "Not here. Not in the dark."

It's a long time before either of us speaks again.

"I'm going back to bed," is all I say before tip-toeing back to my bedroom. About five minutes later, I hear Cerise's door closing. Knowing she's back in bed, I close my eyes, struggling to fall into a few good hours' worth of sleep.

* * *

 **Here's another mini-chapter before the games! Sorry there were only two Povs, but I felt these two were able to sum up all of the terror the tributes are feeling just fine. Only two more chapters to go before the games begin ;D**

 **Question 1: Which District 3 victor is Pixel's mentor?**

 **Question 2: What time of day do the Hunger Games begin?**


	28. Back in the Districts

**District 5: Alec Hampton (11) Pov-  
(Adelaide Hampton's Brother)**

For the past week, the sunlight filtering in through the scratchy cloth curtains hasn't felt quite as warm. The whining electric lights overhead haven't felt quite as bright. And a tissue or two doesn't seem to quell a stream of tears as easily as it used to.

I'd be lying if I said I don't love Adelaide. From the very start, she's always been there for me. My best friend. The one who stood behind me when nobody else did. The one who held out her hand whenever I fell, even when nobody else saw me. Especially when nobody else saw me.

Similarly to so many things that I've long since stop trying to count, sinking down onto the sofa doesn't feel relaxing. It just hurts. I've sat at the end of the couch watching hundreds of tributes die over the years, but it's only now that the horror of the Hunger Games is truly settling into my skin.

I can't say this out loud, but I can believe it in the privacy of my own heart. My sister, Adelaide Hampton, probably isn't going to come home. One in twenty-four. Those are the odds. I imagine a dart board with one twenty-fourth shaded, and then trying to hit the shaded area. It's probably not going to happen.

Papa doesn't say anything as he grabs the television remote and flicks on the interviews. The silence is heavier than I've ever known silence could be. It's like there's no tears left to cry. Like we've sobbed so much that there's a sort of silence. Like nothing will ever happen again.

The television screen flickers to life, and I wiggle into Dad's arms as Caesar Flickerman's laughing face comes into view.

"Skip to hers," Dad says. He hasn't brung himself to say the name of his daughter for a week.

Papa and Dad watch in solemn silence as Adelaide's face comes onto the screen, and tears threaten to burst out of me, my insides wrenching with pain. This is so horrible! So unjust!

Adelaide answers Caesar's first question. Papa shouts "turn it off!" and the next moment the television goes black, his hand still pressing down the rubbery red remote button.

I can't remember any other night the house has been this quiet.

* * *

 **District 5: Terran Wattson (51) Pov-  
(Arthur Wattson's Father)**

Conna ladles some of the hot soup into her bowl. Thick, almost grey steam floats from the surface, trailing out of the propped-open door. But she doesn't eat it. She just tosses the vegetables back and forth on the surface of the broth, watching them drift from one end of the bowl to another like lost ships in a sea.

She's been my wife for eighteen years, and since then we've built our lives up from the ground. Conna was one of the poorest in 5 when she invented the weather tracker from some scrap pieces in a junkyard. A couple million dollars later, we met, and five months later we were married. I had been diagnosed with severe depression when I opened the family wristwatch business, and it was the only thing that kept me from giving up every single day.

And then Arthur was born. I remember the day that Conna emerged from the bathroom and shoved the test into my face, eagerly pointing out the two faint lines. Joy flooded through me, causing my heart to flutter with excitement. Seventeen years later I can still remember feeling like I was floating.

And as Arthur grew older, I slowly introduced him to the family business. He was five when I handed him a few mechanical parts used in our watches, and he returned minutes later with an alien-like creature he'd created. I knew my legacy would never die.

And he grew even older, and I was more surprised than I should have been that boys grow faster than watches. He didn't like sitting still assembling those "stupid clock things" and wanted to go hang out with his friends, doing "cooler" things.

I just wish Arthur would listen to me! I wish I could tell him how much I love him! How sorry I am for all the times I've yelled at him.

I'm not seeing him again for a long time, but I believe he'll be coming home. I have to believe. It's my job as a father to have faith in my son even beyond all reason. If only I could see his smile just once, just to get me through these few weeks...

It breaks my heart to try to remember the last time I told Arthur that I love him.

* * *

 **District 9: Anna Hough (13) Pov-  
(Harper Lamb's Best Friend)**

I slam the door of my locker shut and start into my next class. The teacher already stands at the front of the classroom, scribbling something on the chalkboard. I take my seat in the center of the third row.

This is the first time the seat to my right has gone empty.

Occasionally, other kids will peer back at the chair with sad eyes. That's where Harper Lamb once sat. The twelve-year-old girl going into the games. For anyone this young, the odds of winning the games would be almost indistinguishable from zero.

"Hello," Ms. Merrill shouts. Over the course of a few seconds, the nervous chatting of the class dies down. "Today I am going to teach you about the corn harvesting process."

"As you all know," she continues, "the main industry of District 9 is producing grain for the Capitol and for Panem. However, we occasionally dabble in other crops, such as the corn we will be discussing today."

She points to the diagram she's drawn on the chalkboard. "Can anyone tell me which month corn seeds should begin germinating?"

Vary Laird raises her hand.

"Yes, Vary?"

"Early May."

"Correct. Can anyone tell me which month most corn growing takes place?"

Vary raises her hand again, being the smartest in the class, but Ms. Merrill ignores her and picks on Kenton Love.

"Yes, Kenton?"

"July."

"Correct."

The lesson is just about as boring as every other lesson in District 9 school. But it's even more boring without Harper. Without Harper to whisper to whenever the teacher accidentally says something funny. Without Harper to borrow a pencil from when I need it. Without Harper to tap out the answer for me whenever I'm called on in a lesson I haven't been paying attention in.

School from here on out is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

* * *

 **District 12: Smelter Pick (12) Pov-  
(Hopper Vigo's Best Friend)**

I peer into the hallway, able to hear the rumble of voices despite my enormous distance from the cafeteria. All of the staff are breakfasting down the hall, leaving the rest of the orphanage deserted. The perfect time for mischief.

"Everything in place?"

Sooty nods, holding out her pillowcase. I peer inside, noting that it's filled almost to the brim with dirt.

"I leaned out the window and scooped it up," Sooty explains. "But it's a little heavy. Can I set it down?"

I shake my head. "The Matron could be here any second. We have to work fast."

Sooty grabs the wheelie chair while I unwind the rope I've stolen from one of the cupboards. I stretch the rope around the bag of dirt and tie it into a tight knot. Balancing the bag ever-so-carefully on the palm of her hand, Sooty steps onto the seat of the wheelie chair and balances the bag of dirt on top of the door, propping in a few markers for extra stability. I tie one end of the rope to the doorknob, and we duck together under a nearby desk.

"Remind me how this is going to work," Sooty says.

"We make noise to lure the matron toward us," I explain. "When she twists the doorknob, that rope will go slack, and the bag of dirt will flip upside-down and pour onto her head."

A smile spreads across her face. "I like it!"

Clenching my hand into a fist, I beat the bottom of the desk with all of the strength I can muster, hooting loudly. Sooty joins into the cry, and it's not long before the Matron's girly voice can be heard from nearby ("I swear if it's those two kids again…")

"For Hopper Vigo," I mutter with a grin as the Matron's footsteps grow louder.

"For Hopper Vigo," Sooty repeats.

One second, the Matron's footsteps stop. The next second, there's a creak as she twists the doorknob.

With a boom and a crash, the bag of dirt flips upside down, pouring its filthy contents onto her head. The Matron staggers backward, gasping, as the pile of dirt spreads through the air like a cloud of dust. When everything settles, the well-worked vein in her neck looks just about ready to explode.

It's been a resolution of Sooty's and mine to play at least one good prank on the Matron every day. Like Hopper said, there's not much we can do to help him out now that he's in the Capitol, but I think if he doesn't come home this is how he'd like to be remembered.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! This was one of my favorite chapters and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Next chapter is going to have a couple tributes' Pov inside the launch rooms, and the chapter after that one will be the bloodbath! Ah! So exciting :D**

 **Question 1: If Katniss and Peeta both died in the 74th games, which tribute would you have wanted to win?**

 **Question 2: In the games, would you rather die a painful but fast death in combat or a less painful but slower death from natural causes?**


	29. The Last Few Moments

**District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

"Here. Put this on," my mentor Chipson says.

I can't remember a time my heart has ever pounded this fast. My vision is like someone trying to adjust the zoom setting of a camera, zooming in and out and make everything go blurry. Cold terror blossoms through me and makes my stomach flip, my blood curdling at every sound. I could be dead in five minutes.

Heart hammering so hard I swear I can hear it, I slide into the jacket. The garment is made of a thin but rough material, with several designs etched into the sleeves and front. Chipson urges me to keep still as he buttons it up.

"Joule."

I don't respond. If there were butterflies in my stomach before, they've turned into pigeons flapping around my intestines. Every cell in my body wants me to bust down the door and make a run for it. I'm so nauseous it takes every ounce of my willpower to keep from vomiting. What if I passed out right here? Would they delay the bloodbath until I recovered?

"Joule!"

I still don't answer. Fleeting shivers dart over my skin like little pinpricks. These games are so horrible! So horrendous!

"Joule! You can't ignore me forever."

I turn toward him, my eyes wide with terror. My pupils feel like they must be the size of coins. "What?" I say quietly.

"Good luck in the games, Joule. You're going to face the hardest times you've ever faced in your life. Just remember how strong you are. Good luck, Joule."

For some reason, the overuse of my name is peeving me. "Why are you saying my name so much?"

"Because I want to make you feel a sense of identity," Chipson responds. "It's what'll get you through the games. Remember what you have to go home to."

Perhaps there's a miniscule second where I feel slightly soothed. The spinning of the world slows down slightly. The birds flying in my stomach stop to roost. But it can't last long.

"Thirty seconds until launch."

Fresh terror courses through my veins, worse than any I've felt yet. I'm going into the Hunger Games! I'm going to die! No, no, no! My heart pounds in my ears. I only vaguely feel Chipson grab my shoulders and steer me into the tube. My screams of terror sound like they're coming from somebody else, and I can't feel myself making them. I take a deep breath as the arena comes into view.

* * *

 **District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

The blood pounds in my ears. My heart thuds in my chest. My hands shake. My vision flips like I'm viewing the world through a kaleidoscope. My feet tingle. I can't stare at that horrible tube any longer. In just a minute or so, I'll be standing inside of it. Even if I survive the arena I'll never be the girl I was ever again.

I take a slow, deep breath, fighting to force down the bile that rises in my throat.

"Put this on," Kasey instructs.

I extend my arms, fitting them into the sleeves of the jacket. It's made of a comfortable material, but it doesn't feel soothing. It just feels harsh. This is the uniform I'll be wearing to my doom.

"Lexie, look at me."

I slowly turn my head, locking eyes with her.

"It's going to be alright. Remember everything I've told you," Kasey says.

This suddenly strikes something in me. When I was first reaped, I felt more than lost. I felt like I was floating in the middle of a void, with nobody who cared about me as anything other than the words "District 6 Female" on a holographic computer screen. But Kasey has always been there for me, the motherly mentor most tributes will never have.

"Thank you. For everything you've done," I say quietly.

"You're welcome, Lexie," she responds. "And now you're going to go into those games. You're going to beat down the toughest of opponents and make it home safe and sound. And you're going to live next to me in the Victor's Village."

I take a sigh. "Just promise not to play loud music late at night, okay?"

Kasey laughs. "I promise."

I step into the tube, trying to control my choppy breathing as I feel myself begin to rise.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

I can see why they call it the stockyard back in 10. The place where livestock are sent before being slaughtered. Everything in here looks menacing in a way I can't quite place. The coat hanger in the corner seems so sharp and sleek that I can't shake the image out of my head of it lunging at me. The lights harshly illuminate the white room, like the lights in a psychiatric hospital.

"I'm proud of you, Orford," Alexander says, fitting my uniform onto me. "You've done great so far. And now you're going to win."

For some reason, this makes me angry. The truth sets into my skin like a hundred knives. I'm not going to win. There are twenty-four tributes and I'm one of them. Just one data point on the gamemakers' computer screen that'll be forgotten about days if not hours after my cannon shot sounds.

"You don't know I'm going to win," I spit.

"I do," Alexander insists.

"How?"

"I know it in here," he says, placing a hand on his heart. But there's something to his tone that's so blatantly fake. How many times has he stood here, saying his final words to a tribute only to have them die? How many times has he "known" that his tribute was going to win, even if they didn't?

"Thirty seconds until launch."

I slowly walk toward my tube, terror truly dawning on me for the first time.

"Any last advice?" I ask, turning around.

"Grab the handrails. The elevator moves a little fast."

With that final warning, I feel my pedestal rising underneath me.

It's not long before sunlight breaks into the tube. Squinting, I make out the shining gem of the sun sparkling overhead…


	30. The Bloodbath

**District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

It's fuzzy green grass that I see when my pedestal finally stops rising. I look hastily around. There's a beautiful green meadow that looks to be a quarter mile in radius, and beyond that there's a forest. But there's something weird about the wood, and it has to do with the trees. The tree trunks are all whimsically curved, and their leaves are brighter than I've ever known green could be. Fat red toadstools cling to the sides of the trees, and the air seems to hum with something I can't place as anything but a mysterious unseen magic. Though I might just be imagining it, I swear I can see tall purple mountains in the far distance, and just beyond the cornucopia I spot the blue flash of a clear lake.

A soft breeze blows, carrying every calming scent I can imagine; summer rain, the sea, home. By the looks of things, other tributes have noticed it too. To my right, the boy from 8 raises his nose into the air, taking deep sniffs of the sweet-smelling wind.

I turn back toward the cornucopia. The bright gold material from which the horn is made catches so much sunlight that I have to squint if I want to look at it for more than a few seconds at a time. Inside, there are mostly swords and bows, though I definitely do spot a few knives.

"Let the 83rd Hunger Games begin!" Caesar Flickerman shouts. I actually spin around as if expecting him to be standing right behind me, but of course he's not; the acoustics of the arena are exceptional.

"5."

I've had my decision made ever since I was reaped. I'm going to dart straight through the meadow and into the woods without glancing once at the cornucopia. Heading in the bloodbath is too risky.

"4."

I recall what my ally Hopper said yesterday. We're supposed to meet each other just over the first horizon. What on earth does that mean? I tried to ask him, but he just got a dreamy look in his eyes and turned away.

"3."

I turn around so that I'm facing away from the horn, rocking back and forth on my platform. I don't want to look at the cornucopia. There's always a chance I'll see something I can't pass up, something that will persuade me to jump into the fray.

"2."

It's now that my breathing heightens, recalling a moment from a past games that I've watched on television with Grandpa more times than I can count. A few years ago there was a super strong eight-member career pack. While five of their members stayed at the bloodbath to kill off tributes, three of them circled the cornucopia field killing the numerous tributes who decided to head away from the get go.

Upon further thought, this worry is silly, given that the pack has only four members. _Stop panicking, Pixel._

"1."

Watching the games on television doesn't quite express to a girl how loud the gong is. It reminds me of when my Grandpa would drop a tool or two in his shop, and the crash would echo around the house for five seconds. When I multiply the loudness of a human scream by at least ten, only then can I put into words how loud it is.

As I flee from the horn with nothing but my bare hands to help me through the games, screams begin behind my back.

I take a quick peek to ensure nobody's following, before, unseen, slipping into the comforting darkness of the forest.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

I speed toward the cornucopia as soon as the gong rings. I've seen so many bloodbaths over the years that it's as though an image of a cornucopia has been etched into my head like a strange work of art.

I come to a stop a few meters away from my pedestal, feeling stupid. A District 2 boy needs a sword, and without one I'm sure to be the weak link in the pack. My best weapon is actually a bladed whip, but given the theme of the arena it doesn't seem like there would be any. Contrarily, the thought of a Hunger Games arena without any swords is unthinkable. They're always provided for the steadfast District 2 classics. I just need to search a bit more, that's all.

Jaehaera and I are the only tributes that earned tens, but even she has proved to be my superior by earning 3-1 odds while I only scored 4-1. I have to prove myself a cold-blooded killer from the start if I want to have a hope of outlasting the other careers.

The adrenaline becomes colder and colder as more and more outliers stampede past. That's when I notice it: on a countertop just inside of the cornucopia, a glistening silver sword sits in plain sight, waiting for me.

My face unconsciously works into a grin as I race toward the weapon, and it fits perfectly into my grasp, almost like it was made for me.

"Nero!"

I turn sharply at the sound of my name, greeted with the flick of Jaehaera's dark ponytail. I raise my eyebrows, awaiting an explanation.

Jaehaera takes a few moments to catch her breath. "I got Declan to guard the horn. You and I are going to rack up kills before the field clears too much."

I nod, sprinting into the thick of the cornucopia field. I swing the sword back and forth to get the feel of it as I search for worthwhile prey.

* * *

 **District 6: Lexus Beltran (16) Pov-**

I make the decision to head into the fray when the gong rings. Sure, it's risky, but it's rare for a tribute who flees from the bloodbath to survive for long. Way too rare. Fleeting thoughts of past tributes dead in the first few days dart through me, and I don't have a doubt that my decision is validated.

I stop in front of the first pack. The scratchy-looking cloth is a bright orange color, and by the looks of things it's bulging with supplies. I turn left and right to make sure none of the careers are nearby before kneeling beside the pack.

My hands reach for the zipper, and I try to keep as quiet as possible as I open it up. My arm reaches inside, and I riffle through the contents. A few fuzzy red fruits I've never seen before. A thermos of water. A pocketknife.

A smile plasters itself onto my face. I zip the pack closed and leap to my feet.

The 2 boy knocks me back to the ground faster than I have time to flee.

Only my screams do the scene justice. The boy sports a horrifying pleased smile as he raises his sword.

"Help!" I scream, rolling out from underneath his weight. The 2 boy curses. I try to run for it, but he catches up to me in no time, grabbing the back of my neck and throwing me to the ground.

The snap is sickening, and it takes me longer than it should to realize that my arm is broken. In seconds, the agony is setting in, and bones poke up from underneath the flesh like fingers pushing up a blanket.

"You're not going anywhere," the 2 boy says, pinning my wrists and ankles to the ground.

"Get… off… of… me!" I groan, fighting against him. My wrists and ankles are damp with blood, and a thought crosses my mind of how stupid I must look to the Capitol.

With a punch, he sends me sprawled out on all fours, flopping like a dying fish.

The last thing I see is the tip of the career's sword as it burrows into my chest. It only hurts for a second. Then there is only warmth.

* * *

 **District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-**

I guess the gamemakers felt like being fair this year, or more likely decided to make things harder for everyone. As I peer around, I can't see any allies or district partners next to each other; in fact, my partner Dory is on the completely opposite end of the pedestal ring from me. Not that I was ever planning on allying with her, but it would encourage me to have her at least somewhat near.

I twirl around and around as the countdown dwindles, and eventually my gaze settles on a grassy hill about twenty yards away. If I fall behind the hill as soon as the games start, I'll remain unseen while most of the major carnage goes on. Then, when the careers are more exhausted, I'll be able to snatch a pack or two from some unoccupied corner of the field before fleeing.

It's not a great plan, and it creates more questions than it resolves, but it's better than nothing. The flashing numbers turn to single digits, and it's no time at all before the gong is ringing.

I turn around to flee to the hill, but that's when my eyes land on something. Thirty yards away from me, there sits a table covered with a bounty of supplies: an unzipped pack filled with gauze, a transparent thermos filled with ice, and three sharp knives. My feet move on autopilot, turning away from the safety of the meadow and toward the stool. There's no way I can pass that up, and I can't let it fall into the hands of a career or stronger tribute.

My feet skid to a stop in front of the stool. I stuff the thermos into the pack, and I'm about to grab up the rest of the supplies when I hear a sound behind me that makes my heart stop: human footsteps.

I whip around at the speed of light and find myself face-to-face with the grinning 10 boy, Orford. By the looks of things, duel-wielding his his style. He holds a sharp knife in each hand, and I'm frozen to the spot as the knives move toward me.

It's when the blade of the first knife hits my chest that somebody finally unpauses my world. I swing the pack toward Orford, but he easily jumps out of the way. I grab a knife from the stool, moving slowly backward as he approaches, heart hammering with fear.

"Don't you dare try to run," Orford warns. "I'll only make your death longer."

"I'm not going to. I'm not scared," I reply. I know my words can't change the inevitable duel about to transpire, but saying the words out loud somehow makes me feel braver.

"Why the knives? District 4 tributes usually go for tridents," Orford says matter-of-factly.

Unsurprisingly, this question takes me aback. Why's he bringing up weapon types in a situation as tense as this?

But it turns out that Orford is clever, not just strong. He's thrown me into another one of my I-can't-move-and-I-can't-breathe states, and I'm right where he wants me.

Pain such as I can't imagine ever having felt before runs through my body. My screams accenting Orford's pleased laughs, I peer down. The blade of one of Orford's knives is lodged uglily into my waist, and blood runs down my leg, staining my pants. Staggering backward, I struggle away from the cornucopia, making a desperate attempt for escape.

A whistling sound starts up behind me. I turn around just in time to see the glint of Orford's other knife in the sun, and then there's not even darkness.

* * *

 **District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-**

I have never felt this humiliated in my entire life. These tribute uniforms are so ugly! The tributes should have at least some choice in what they wear in the arena, even if it's something as simple as making the shirt and the pants match.

As the arena comes into view, I lean to one side, attempting to catch my reflection in the blade of a nearby knife. My hair must look so ugly! I wonder how much my mentor's hugs smeared my mascara. I finally catch my reflection in the knife, but I don't have any time to wipe off my makeup smears before the countdown ends.

Killing can wait. I start off of my pedestal and snatch up the knife, holding it in front of my face. I have to circle around a few times to maximize the clarity of the reflection, but it's not hard once I get used to it.

I've just begun forcing the few rebellious strands of hair into my ponytail when there's a cold laugh behind me. I whip my head around, and the only thing I see before the sword enters my gut is Jaehaera's cold, piercing eyes.

"You're ruining my hair!" I scream as she yanks the sword out of my abdomen. The pain is indescribable, but I'm not going out of this world without looking my best.

Jaehaera tells me to do a few things that would surely warrant a thorough mouth-washing back home, and I'm frozen to the spot as blood runs down my legs. Finally, I can't hold myself up anymore, and I fall to my knees.

I try to move my head out of the way as the sword draws nearer. I have to have an open-casket funeral! She can't just decide to scratch up my pretty face at the last moment!

But there's no fighting back, and as I feel the world slowly beginning to slip away, even Jaehaera's cackles of pleasure grow fainter and fainter.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

Each Hunger Games begins with a gong, but since I'm deaf that doesn't really work for me. I could just start running as soon as the others jump off of their pedestals, but my mentor gave me a little contraption to help me out a bit. The metal band is wrapped snugly around my wrist, and it buzzes every five seconds before glowing at the gong. I appreciate that she's thinking of me, but the band really acts as a distraction, and it's the only thing I can focus on while I'm trying to find something worthwhile to grab before running away.

The band glows, and I'm off my pedestal, grateful I can't hear the screams that must be all around me. Everyone says the screams are the worst part of the games, and that they ring in the victors' ears forever, like dirt they can never wash off their hands, constantly reminding them of the horrors they struggle every day to forget.

But I'm wasting time thinking all of this over. I need to grab a pack or two and then leave, and as soon as possible at that.

My eyes land on a butter-yellow pack about ten meters away, and I snatch it up along with a small pouch nearby. In seconds, I'm booking it away from the horn, leaving the carnage behind me.

Mavvi Levist is not going to die today.

* * *

 **District 12: Hopper Vigo (12) Pov-**

"How ya' doing?" I shout. "Weather certainly is great today!"

"I swear if you…" Declan looks as though he's about to burst from anger.

"I said how's the weather?"

Declan stares hatefully at me, perhaps thinking that being blown up by the mines is a fair price to pay to get my head on a stick before the games even begin.

I just chuckle, turning around. I've been resigned to the bloodbath from the start; why cower in fear on my pedestal when I could go out with a bang?

"Hey you, 1!" I shout.

Sangria turns toward me. "What?"

"How about you come over here? Maybe get off the plate soon to get a head start?"

Sangria laughs. "I may be blonde, but, believe it or not, I'm not stupid!"

The gong rings, and I charge toward the cornucopia, giggling. To my left, the 2 boy offs the girl from District 6, and I hear the screams of two more dying tributes in the next few seconds. Of course, it's only a matter of time before my name is added to the list of the dead.

I raise my hands into the air, standing right in front of the horn.

"Come and get me!" I scream. "Free kill for anyone wanting to impress the sponsors!"

The last things I see are Declan's piercing blue eyes, and the next second his spear is lodged into my side.

The last thing I do as I feel myself beginning to slip away is roll around onto my stomach.

I die facing down so the whole world can kiss my ass.

* * *

 **District 8: Twilla Weaver (13) Pov-**

Panic fires through my body, taking control of my every conscious function as the countdown dwindles closer and closer to zero. Despite the brightness of the meadow, my pupils feel like they must be the sizes of quarters.

I turn around, prepared to scramble away the instant the gong rings. As the countdown dwindles, I occupy myself by braiding my hair. Such a vibrant red that it looks like fire. The hair of the Weaver family.

The gong rings, and I step off of my plate, ready to scramble. That's when a rather handsome sight catches my eye.

Thirty yards away, an ajar pack is stuffed with packets of dried beef. Bottles of what must me medicine are strewn around it, and a thermos of ice leans against the pack.

My feet are moving five seconds before my brain has time to catch up. There's no way I can pass by something like that. Besides, when's an opportunity like that going to come up… ever again?

I kneel beside the supply hoard, making an attempt to shove some of the medicine into the pack. It's only when i finally get it zipped shut that a bloodcurdling whistle starts up behind me.

The blade of the sword flies over my head, and I barely have time to duck underneath. One of my locks of fiery-red hair flutters to the ground, sliced off from the blow, and a fury such as I've never felt in my life bursts through my veins.

Robbing me of my Weaver hair is robbing me of my identity.

I stumble away and grab a sword of my own, and it's only then that I identify my attacker. The 2 boy (I think his name's Nero?) grins roguishly, slicing through the air toward me.

His first move is a devious one, but I'm prepared. I thrust my sword outward, and it blocks his blow, sending a small shower of sparks raining to the grass. A kind of amusement settles in. I'm actually fighting against this career boy and not failing miserably.

Nero chuckles. "You've actually got some talent, I'll admit."

"My name is Twilla Weaver."

"Don't change the sub…"

"My name is Twilla Weaver!"

It feels enormously gratifying to say my name out loud. I'm not just a number on the computer screen on the gamemakers. I am not just a body to be sent home in a coffin at a moment's notice. I am Twilla Weaver.

And that name sticks with me. It sticks with me even when Nero's next blow sends my sword spiraling out of my grasp. It sticks with me as he lodges his blade into my chest. It sticks with me as I fall to the ground, feeling the world begin to fade.

"I am Twilla Weaver. I am Twilla Weaver. I am Twilla… Twill... "

* * *

 **District 3: Joule Merchiers (13) Pov-**

I pass the knife anxiously between my hands, running through my plan-of-attack. If I can do anything to impress the sponsors, it's eliminate one of the members of that pesky alliance from 7. Erik and Cerise's alliance has the most love from the Capitol with the possible exception of the career pack, and there's no way I'm letting those two escape the bloodbath alive if I can help it.

Holding the knife so hard my knuckles turn white, I charge toward Erik's back, closing the distance between us...

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

"Erik!"

My district partner runs to my side, panting heavily and damp with sweat.

In explanation, I hold up the two hatchets, and a smile creeps across Erik's face.

"Where'd you get those?" he asks incredulously.

I giggle a little. "It turns out being stealthy is worth at least something. Stole 'em from right behind Jaehaera's back."

I hold out one of the identical hatchets, and Erik takes one, running his finger over the wooden handle.

I can honestly say that I've never felt more terrified than a minute ago. I remember splitting apart from Erik and then spotting the glint of the hatchet blades behind Jaehaera. Looking back, it wasn't that hard. I threw a rock to her left, and when she ran around the horn to investigate, I grabbed the hatchets right from behind her. My heart still thumps in my ears over a minute later. That adrenaline rush was terrifying.

But unfortunately I'm given another adrenaline rush far too soon when Erik falls to the ground. There's a small boy on top of him (he can't possibly be more than twelve or thirteen) and he must be foolish to think he can take Erik down.

Dumbfounded, I stagger backward, unable to do anything but watch the scene play out. Upon seeing the face of the attacker, I recognize him as Joule from 3. Joule struggles to push his knife into Erik's neck, and he's lasting admirably long for a boy so young. Erik groans, struggling against him.

"Help me… Cerise…" Erik calls out.

For a second, I can't move. I try to get closer, but it's like my feet are stuck to the ground. The glint of Joule's knife in the sun is what finally renders me capable of motion, and I raise my hatchet into the air before my moral compass can stop me.

I'm about to kill a human being.

I swing the hatchet downward with all the force I can muster.

I'm about to kill a human being.

The hatchet comes closer and closer to Joule's neck, and he screams, trying to get away.

The 3 boy's yells are cut short as the blade of my hatchet buries itself into his neck, sinking inches deep into the flesh. For an instant, Joule's screams are choked by the sound of blood. The next second, he goes limp, and Erik wiggles out from underneath him, letting his head fall free, kept from tumbling off only by the hinge of flesh my hatchet didn't penetrate.

That's when I break. I collapse to the ground, crying pathetically. I just ended Joule's life. And he was so young! I take a look at my hands, the hands that'll be stained with blood forever whether I leave these games with my life or not.

"Cerise…"

"No!"

"Cerise…"

"Be quiet!"

Before I can protest, Erik pulls me to my feet. "We've got our supplies. Now we need to get away before the field starts to clear."

I nod, making my first effort to quell the stream of tears. I retrieve my hatchet from the dead boy's neck, and Erik and I grab a few packs before fleeing into the meadow at one other's side.

* * *

 **District 5: Arthur Wattson (17) Pov-**

I leap off of my plate as soon as the countdown finishes, tearing over the fuzzy green grass and toward the cornucopia. For now, I'd say I have two main priorities: gathering supplies and killing off the gutter rats from the outlying districts.

I come to a stop about halfway between my pedestal and the horn. I've found myself at a crossroads. To my left, there's a zipped-shut pack that looks to be close to bursting with supplies. To my right, there are a thermos of water and a juicy-looking pink fruit that smells sweet.

Screams are raised all around me. I have to make my decision fast.

After a few painful moments of indecision, I decide I can't bring myself to leave either behind. I sprint toward the zipped-up pack and open it up. It's crammed with microchips and bolts and other mechanical parts I don't know how to use. I actually sigh. I was hoping for something better.

Throwing the pack over my shoulder, I close the distance between myself and the other supply stash, the one with the thermos and the pink fruit.

The problem is, they're just gone.

My gut wrenches in confusion, and I turn around as a mind-numbing agony explodes through me. The last thing I see before falling to the ground is the flick of the 2 girl's dark ponytail.

I can't help but scream at the sight of the fresh blood on her sword as she tears it out of my abdomen messily, and strings of dark blood fly every which way. It's mere seconds before my vision and hearing begin to fade. But even my failing sense of hearing can't drown out what must be the last sound I'll ever hear; Jaehaera's cold, menacing cackle as she flicks the excess blood off of the sword.

I suppose it could be worse. I could have been offed by one of the poor tributes, or, worst of all, that pesky scrap of a girl from 3.

I wonder what death's like.

* * *

 **District 8: Caden Yarnn (16) Pov-**

I can see why they all say the games are meant to drive you crazy.

From the second these awful games started, I've felt out of my mind, and not just because the adrenaline is making me antsy. I shouldn't be here. None of these kids should be here. Even the careers, who volunteered into this mess, shouldn't be here. They've been brainwashed from an early age, told that he Capitol is good and dying in the games is worth it all for the honor. I'm terrified by the prospect that I may literally be going insane. The stress of this whole thing is just getting to me. My steps are uneven and the tears come in spurts, like a hose being kinked and unkinked. I can't focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Even my vision is noticeably suffering.

I come to a stop in front of a blue sleeping bag, heart hammering like crazy. As I strap the sleeping bag to my back, shrill screams pierce the silence of the meadow. Not like it was ever serene in the first place.

I figure one sleeping bag isn't enough to flee the fray with, so I gather a few more supplies. Some pocketknives. A loaf of bread from one district or another. A packet of edible gel that morphs and bounces in my pocket.

"8!"

Like an idiot, I freeze in place at the shout of my district number.

I swear I can feel my insides crinkle up inside of me. Nero Ryker stands ten feet to my left, brandishing his sword, three feet of deadly metal.

I try to run, but it's like running in a dream; I can't seem to get my feet to move, and the rest of me doesn't want to cooperate either. I don't care how sore I am, or how hopeless it is to escape the 2 boy. All I know is I need to get away, and now!

He approaches, and his debut slash brings the first scream bellowing from my mouth.

"Get away from me!"

I loft a nearby pack into the air and hurl it toward him, but it just flies a few feet and lands with a thud nowhere near him.

Nero chuckles, and a finger of ice runs down my spine. All at once, it's like my body has given up trying to survive. My whole body goes limp, as though the terror is some sort of drug that I've overdosed on and now it's sedating me.

I barely notice as he thrusts his sword into my gut, somewhat at peace with the prospect of being released from the hideousness of this life.

* * *

 **District 9: Harper Lamb (12) Pov-**

My heart rate quickens every time my back thumps against the wall of the cornucopia. Shortness of breath isn't the right way to describe it. There isn't enough room in my lungs for me to inhale enough air to survive. I feel like I've been pulled from a hot bath and drenched in ice water, left to cry and shiver with nobody around who cares to help me.

I know the bloodbath of the Hunger freaking Games isn't the best time to be having a panic attack, but I can't help it. And as the cornucopia field thins more and more and the screams of the others fade to nothingness, a thought strikes me worse than anything I've ever felt before.

I'm going to die. I'm going to die right here in the darkness of the cornucopia. I'm going to end up just like Dad.

"Who got Sangria?" one of the career boys asks. By the sound of his voice, he must be less than twenty meters away.

"I did," says a voice that I'd recognize anywhere as the vicious voice of the 2 girl, sending a cold shiver down my spine.

The District 1 boy peeks into the cornucopia and dons a little smile. I make a futile attempt to scuttle into a safer area of the horn, but it's just that: futile. In seconds, the three careers have plugged the opening of the cornucopia, trapping me inside.

"Make it quick!" I beg.

The 2s fall back, leaving the 1 boy at the front. As the point of his spear draws closer, all I can think about is seeing Dad again. The thought of his warm smile after all these years carries me through my death with dignity, even if nothing else will.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **24th: Lexus Beltran, District 6 Female - Stabbed with sword, by Nero**

This girl was a whirlwind to write. She really was a spoiled brat, and she fabricated pretty much everything she said, but her lies weren't just for funsies. This was a girl who thought running away from her problems was as easy as telling a falsehood or manipulating someone less popular than her, but it's great she stayed so strong throughout the pre-games. She (like all of these tributes) never deserved to die this young D:

 **23rd: Cyan Costas, District 4 Male - Impaled with knives, by Orford**

Cyan, Cyan, Cyan. I'd always figured he'd develop more as the story continued, but I honestly think he's the tribute in this SYOT I've most failed to write. He had so much potential as such a caring friend and passionate person in everything he did, but sadly he didn't reach that full potential due to the early death and everything else.

 **22nd: Sangria Ashworth, District 1 Female - Stabbed in face with sword, by Jaehaera**

This girl was a comedy legend, and given her vanity I saw it as only fitting that she die trying to get a glimpse of her reflection. Like, seriously, Sangria had some of the most fun scenes to write out, and by the reviews it seems you've all enjoyed her too. She got on the nerves of the other careers, and most of all on those of the vicious Jaehaera, who ended up killing her.

 **21st: Hopper Vigo, District 12 Male - Speared, by Declan**

This boy. THIS BOY. His scenes were all blasts to write out. From hijacking the microphone at the reaping, scaling the Presidential Mansion during the tribute parade, and annoying the careers in training, all of his scenes made me laugh. It's such a shame he died so young given his stance on life, but I sadly don't think anyone expected him to survive long. Enjoy the afterlife, bud.

 **20th: Twilla Weaver, District 8 Female - Skewered with sword, by Nero**

I admire this girl for always keeping close with her identity. She valued family more than anything else, and the pride given to her by her red hair stayed with her to the very end. It's sad she'll only go down as another data point on the computer screen of the gamemakers, like all these others who don't walk home with the Victor's Crown.

 **19th: Joule Merchiers, District 3 Male - Decapitated with hatchet, by Cerise**

Joule was one of the tributes I took more liberties with the development of. His form described him as a rather snobbish and rude thirteen-year-old, but something about his affection toward his brother Trinket made me see him in a different light. This boy was great, and even though he could be annoying he was dedicated and passionate.

 **18th: Arthur Wattson, District 5 Male - Pierced through abdomen, by Jaehaera**

I'm pretty sure that Arthur's submitter wanted a top-tier jerk, and I hope I've delivered! If anything, his death shows that even the richest and most privileged are at the mercy of the Hunger Games, and his classist behavior was somewhat comedic to portray. Oh, and one last thing. His full name is Arthur Caleb Wattson, but I've never included that in the story. Hope it gives him some bit of respect as he passes on.

 **17th: Caden Yarnn, District 8 Male - Dispatched with sword, by Nero**

Given that some guest submissions are… eh, not the greatest, Caden's form was extremely well-filled-out by his creator. With his death, Caden's family has lost a lot more than the heir of their yarn-spinning business. Let's all hope they recover soon after the death of their beloved.

 **16th: Harper Lamb, District 9 Female - Speared, by Declan**

Harper was one of the three unfortunate twelve-year-olds in these games, and all of her scenes were just sad. She was taken from her family and friends and placed in the foreign Capitol where the ways of life were alien to her, only to be killed mere minutes into the competition that could have landed her on victor's row. Writing her Povs just emphasized how cruel and unforgiving Panem's Capitol is. Happy trails, young Harper, in the greatest adventure of all :D

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **Wowza! I hope this bloodbath was eventful. I was expecting a 4k-5k word long bloodbath, but I was surprised with an over 6k chapter, like holy crapkittens XD**

 **With the deaths of Lexus and Caden, paperairline and Smiley are now out of the running to have their tribute win. Sorry, guys. I legitimately adore all of these characters but it is my sad duty to kill 23 of them D;**

 **Also, sponsoring doesn't start until Day 2, so the tributes aren't just ridiculously overpowered from the get-go.**

 **For those curious as to how this story will work: Every tribute will get a Pov every day, but I've divided each day into several different chapters to keep them from getting too long. See ya' next time :D**

 **P.S. From now on I'll only be including one question at the end of every chapter, but it'll be worth double points.**

 **Question: Which of these bloodbath deaths was the most surprising?**


	31. All that Glitters (Day 1)

**District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

The only pack I've managed to snatch from the cornucopia thumps familiarly between my shoulder blades as I jog into the first line of trees. The pack is somewhat heavy in that a weaker tribute might not be able to run with it, but a lifetime of carrying sacks of grain has shaped me up for lugging around heavy things so it doesn't hinder me much.

Before long, the grassy underfoot of the meadow melts into the leaf-strewn ground of the forest. I take a peek behind me; the cornucopia is well out of sight. Reassured I have at least some cover from the careers, I decide to settle at least for a little while.

After a few minutes of searching, I discover a bowl-shaped ditch easily large enough to fit me. I crouch down inside and immediately feel exposed. If a tribute came in from any side, they'd have the high ground and I'd be unable to escape. I'm too tired to search any more, though, so I just pull a few branches over the ditch, which will hopefully shield me from sight if my makeshift camp receives any uninvited visitors.

I wiggle out of the straps of my pack and pull it in front of me, letting it come to a rest on my lap. Despite its seemingly large size, the ditch can't fit my legs, so I have to settle for poking them out slightly.

I unzip the pack and reach inside. The first thing I find is made of cold metal, and it has a rubbery endpoint. Curiously, my finger gently presses down onto the button, and the entire covered ditch is illuminated—a flashlight.

Cupping by hand around the bulb to keep the light from being too bright, I sift through the remainder of my supplies. There's a small piece of cheese tightly wrapped in plastic and an apple, but not much else in the ways of food. I do find two wicked-looking hunting knives—not the sickle I was hoping for but oh well—and a packet of pills labeled "sleep" in blocky red print. The label chills me to the bone. Does it mean sleep as in normal sleeping pills or sleep as in… I can't even bring myself to think about it. The final sleep.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

That's it. The last poor tribute has just died and the bloodbath is over. Knowing the careers will commence their hunt any second now, I push myself to my feet, breaking through the seal of branches I haphazardly assembled a few moments ago.

I don't know how long it is before I find my new home. It could be thirty minutes or five hours, but the stopwatch freezes as I pick up on the sound of trickling water. It's a thirty meter walk, and I pull aside the branches of one of the whimsically curved trees.

What I see is a creek that looks to be straight out of a fairy tale. The stream scissors in a zig-zag pattern from one end of my peripheral vision to the other, and little greenish plants that look like clovers line the surface, with pink blossoms.

I set my supply stash down on the bank and plunge my feet into the cool river, sighing as I take a refreshing sip of water. The sun is the perfect temperature, the wind is refreshing, the gentle murmuring of the stream is more calming than anything I've heard before—it would be heaven if not for the fact I'm in the Hunger Games. I hope I can make it back to 9 sooner than later.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

The forest is beautiful. Tall trees wind their way into the sky, limbs twisting and turning like particularly confused appendages. There's something so hectic, mysterious, and playful about them that I can't put into words. I can just feel it. This isn't an ordinary forest, for better or for worse.

I squint upward toward the sun, marking its position in the sky with my finger. When I first left the cornucopia it was a short distance closer to the horizon—though I can't say anything for sure, my best guess is I've been travelling for at least an hour.

I come to a stop in a sunlit clearing. The warmth of the shining sun is refreshing after so long in the cool shade of the trees, though I know I can't stay here for long. Any tribute in a quarter-mile radius would be able to see me in an area so well lit.

Anywhere I look, the purple mountains in the far north draw my attention. Something about them is even more mysterious than the forest. Perhaps it's some sort of morbid curiosity, perhaps it's magic, whatever it is, my feet are moving toward them before my brain has time to catch up. It'll be safer up there in the mountains, with fewer tributes around. I'll have the high ground, and that's important as the only twelve-year-old left in these games. And besides, District 3 tributes have grown a liking toward mountains since the incident—was it five years ago? I can't quite place my finger on it right now.

Anyway, there was this boy named Router Lowell, and from the start everyone knew he was one to be remembered. He scored an astounding nine with his technology and trap skills and such, and his arena wasn't unlike this one—a flat plain surrounded by a ring of rocky mountains. Twelve tributes perished in the initial bloodbath, Router having killed one of them, and he literally fled the cornucopia with the careers' proposal of alliance behind his back. He ran right for the mountains and crouched down into a cave where he started assembling a sort of trap. Basically, he would melt some snow into a bucket and then pour it over some areas of the mountain to make the snow much looser. Then Router would make loud noises until a tribute would approach and then he would send his little contraption under the snow that would reduce the strength of its foundations significantly. A few good kicks, and the snow would be sent tumbling down the side of the mountain like a mini-avalanche, knocking back the intruder and either suffocating them or causing them to freeze to death buried in the snow soon after. He killed—what, three tributes this way—and then Router won by flooding the horn with snow and trapping the 1 girl and the 2 boy inside, killing his final opponents in a matter of minutes. And to make matters even more surprising, Router Lowell was only thirteen years old—the first victor under fourteen in history.

I was never expecting my small and tired body to be able to reach the mountains in one day, and I'm forced to rest as the sun begins to set with what I'll estimate as three miles left to the base of the nearest mountain. The purple grows more and more vibrant the closer I get.

When night falls, I pick a few berries I recognize from a bush and munch on them greedily, before, falling against a broad-trunked tree, quickly being overtaken by the sleep my body has been craving for hours.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

The other careers and I watch from a distance as the hovercraft's claw descends, snatching up tribute after tribute and sending them to wherever they go before they're put into their coffins.

"How many were there?" I ask.

"Ten," Jaehaera responds. "Less than usual, but—" a smile twists itself onto her face, "That leaves more to mess around with now that the bloodbath is over."

For some reason, the way she talks about the tributes like puppets to be killed off at her amusement makes my blood boil with anger. If I were less smart, I'd say something, but that's a sure-fire way to get kicked from the pack in ten seconds. Ever since the games started I've been having these little fleeting doubts about the fact that I'm killing human beings left and right. I've been training with dummies for nearly a decade, but killing humans is different. I think it's the screams that do it. With the exception of the shape, people aren't anything like dummies. Dummies don't scream. They don't flop around with the terrified glint in their eyes and beg for you to let them go.

I just sigh, leading the charge back to the cornucopia. I immediately run to the back of the horn to get a better idea of what weapons are provided this year. I find mostly knives and a few swords and bows—yes, bows, Declan will be happy.

"1!" I shout.

Declan starts into sight. "2?"

In explanation, I hold up the bow, and he grins. He's already got a spear, and I'm not sure how he'll manage to use both weapons at a time, but he takes the bow nonetheless.

"Where are the arrows?"

That's when I realize there aren't any. I spin around and around, eyes poring over the endless piles of stuff inside of the horn. There aren't any arrows in sight. I feel the color rise in my face. I must look like the stupidest District 2 boy in the world.

Trying to conceal my embarrassment, I lift my shoulders, unable to hand over a decent response.

"What're you doing?" Jaehaera shouts. "We don't have time to mess around! There's three of us and twelve of them!"

I start to grab my sword, but Jaehaera holds out her arm. "Nope. You're guarding while we're hunting."

"But…"

"This is my pack and you're going to do what I say!"

The dark glint in her eyes is particularly profound now, and they scare me enough to fall back into the darkness of the cornucopia, nodding in acceptance.

Declan and Jaehaera leave, and I fall back against the interior wall of the horn. I feel like there have been a million ropes wrapped around me, all being pulled in different directions, and I couldn't chose one to follow even if I wanted to. I'm a career and I'm in the Hunger Games. But it's just starting to dawn on me that the things I've been taught from an early age are all massive lies.

* * *

 **District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

Cerise and I flee the bloodbath together, heading for the sparkling lake just beyond the cornucopia. Beside me, my ally cries into her hands, and I can't help but feel really bad for her. Less than five minutes ago she decapitated Joule Merchiers from District 3.

We skid to a stop at the shore of the lake, and sand sprays up, some of it landing in my shoes.

"You hear that?" Cerise breathes, sniffs punctuating her words.

I shake my head.

"That's the point," Cerise continues. "It's so quiet."

She's right. Around most lakes you can hear a perpetual lapping and splashing sound. But this one is dead still, with barely a trace of a ripple anywhere on its glassy surface.

"Should we drink it?" she asks, piercing the silence.

My lips form into a frown as I carefully weigh the options. It's only now that I realize how thirsty I feel—a burning thirst that feels like my mouth and throat are being squeezed by the strongest hand in the world. I'd give a handsome amount of money to have a sip of clean water—but then again the lake might not be clean… too often in past Hunger Games do tributes die from neglecting to test their water sources before just diving in for a gulp.

I shake my head no. "We should test it slowly. That way if it is poison, we'll get only a little dose and then we'll find somewhere else."

Cerise reaches into one of the small packs she snatched from the cornucopia, pulling out a thermos. I watch as she kneels beside the lake and plunges the thermos into the water. There's a little vortex as water floods into the container, and then she pulls it back out, filled to the brim.

"Who goes first?"

"I volunteer," I answer, and we share an uncomfortable laugh. Putting the water to my lips, I take a short sip, instantly feeling refreshed.

Cerise raises her eyebrow.

"Tastes great."

She takes a drink of her own and immediately seems more full of life. We sit cross-legged on the shore of the lake, engaging in conversation as I lay out our supplies.

"You know, I didn't see any other water sources on the way here," Cerise remarks as I push our hatchets aside.

"Right. It's not impossible it's the only lake in the arena," I say, pulling a bag of translucent orange headache pills out of the pack.

"You say it so calmly," Cerise notes. "That's really bad if it's true. The tributes are going to flock here."

"Think about it from the Capitol's point of view," I suggest darkly. "One water source, and the tributes have to come to that location regularly if they want water. That means more bloodshed."

That's when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Something in the lake…

"What was that?" I shout.

"What was what?"

"That!"

I find myself pointing at the empty surface of the lake, with whatever I just saw having seemingly vanished.

"You need a bit more water," Cerise says.

I take the thermos, allowing myself a little more water, praying the moving shape I saw was truly just a figment of my imagination…

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I've never thought about how heightened my senses would be in a situation as stressful as the Hunger Games. I pick up on sounds that I've never known my ears were keen enough to hear. I can see farther than I've ever known I could. And my brain has developed a sort of methodical way of seeing things it can't. That tree looks especially healthy. We must be close to water. There are lots of animal droppings around here. There must be food nearby. Thinking about it, assuming so much probably isn't good for me. All that glitters isn't gold.

By the time the sun reaches its peak in the sky, I'm pretty sure I've gotten far enough from the cornucopia to settle for the day. Thinking back to past Hunger Games, the only time deaths occur after the bloodbath on the first day is when tributes are stupid enough to settle for the night too near to the cornucopia.

A lumpy shape comes into view, sitting lazily in a sunlit clearing. I walk forward, the sleeping bag I've strapped to my back thumping against my shoulder blades. It's a rock. Well, rock might not be the appropriate word. More of a boulder. It looks to be about five feet in diameter, and when I touch it it's scalding hot.

I sit cross-legged beside the large boulder and take the sleeping bag off of my back. I wish I could say there's more I got from the horn, but in truth there's not much. Just a pocketknife and—a yo-yo. Well that'll sure come in handy if some yo-yo demon approaches and demands either a yo-yo or my life.

Since I don't have a thermos, I figure settling near a water source would be my best bet. Taking all my supplies with me, I venture east and eventually discover a small, dirty-looking pool so small I could probably splash out the entire contents with a basketball. I'm not desperate enough to drink water that filthy. At least not yet.

I turn around and run straight into something hard. Letting out a yelp of shock, I fall to the ground. When I get to my feet, I actually close my eyes hard once to make sure they're actually working properly. It's the boulder. The same one I saw half a mile to the west from here.

It even has my handprint still preserved in the layer of dust on its surface.

Either I'm going crazy or that boulder moved hundreds of feet while I wasn't looking.

Well, look what we have here. An hour into the games and I'm already questioning my sanity. Just lovely.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **A/N: Here's the next part of Day 1! Don't think that this story is going to be super boring toward the end—not all of the days will take four chapters to cover. They'll move by faster as more tributes die off :D**

 **Also, here's a reminder that sponsoring doesn't start until Day 2. Just hold out for a little longer and then you can pour your hard-earned sponsor points onto your favorite tributes ;)**

 **Question: If you were one of the victors voting on whether or not to have the 76th games with Capitol children, would you vote yes or no?**


	32. Got your Back (Day 1)

**District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

The forest grass crunches under our feet as we stumble forward. I groan, pulling up the pack that's been sagging farther and farther down my back for the last few seconds and constantly threatens to slip off completely. My calves burn as Adelia and I make our way up the hill.

"Do… we… really… have… to… do… this?" Adelia groans.

"Yep," I force out. "We just… have to get to the top… and then… we can rest."

I turn to the right, noticing sweat shining on her forehead. She glances at me, but I break the eye contact in a fraction of a second. If I'm being completely honest, I'm surprised she's survived this long. Part of me was honestly expecting to hear her screams in the opening minutes, the last sounds she'd have ever made. Being allies puts so much unneeded stress on both of us.

But I can't abandon her now that we've shaken on it. If there's one thing I pride myself on it's my loyalty.

"Almost there," I shout as the crest of the hill comes into view.

At the top of the grassy hill, we practically collapse with exhaustion. It feels heavenly for my muscles to have a break after the long climb up.

"Remind me why we did this again," Adelia pants.

"So we can get a bird's eye view of the arena," I respond. We both slide out of our packs and fall straight onto them like pillows. "It'll give us an advantage. Now we can spot danger coming early."

The only sound is our heavy breathing. I turn my head from left to right, giving myself a panoramic view of the hilltop and everything below. Fuzzy green grass covers every square inch of the hill; not many trees have managed to take root on the steep slope, and those that have look like they might tear away any second.

"Well." I get to my feet. "You want to sort the supplies or gather food?"

"I'll sort," Adelia answers, already kneeling beside the few supplies we've managed to snatch from the horn.

"Don't worry," I say, as I pack up to leave. "If anything happens just scream. I'll come as soon as I can. I've got your back."

I reach into my pocket and fish out my machete, holding it tightly as I venture away from Adelia. It's definitely a good idea to be ready to fend off any attackers, and hopefully the sight of the weapon alone would give a weaker tribute second thoughts about attacking me—then again, I can't say how intimidating a small knife would be in comparison to the massive death weapons the stronger tributes lug around.

I can't tell how long it's been when I finally find food. Whether it's been ten minutes or an hour is unknown to me, which is surprising given how often I've done this back home in 12. Altogether with Mom, Dad, Willow, Nash, Cal, Ali, and I, most people would probably be surprised by how much hunting I do. Supporting a family of seven isn't easy.

The glint of the berries is faint at first, but as the bush grows closer I can't stop the smirk that my lips twist themselves into. Raspberries. I'd recognize these anywhere, and I can already taste their sweet juice as I start picking them.

The only tough bit is that I don't have a basket or anything else to collect the berries inside of, so I have to carry as many as I can in each hand. Figuring it can't hurt to mark the way back here later, I make sure to note a few recognizable landmarks on the way home.

After the calf-burning climb to the top of the hill, I drop the berries onto the blanket that Adelia stretched out while I was gone.

"Where'd you get those?" she asks incredulously, already rolling one curiously between her fingers.

A smirk plasters itself onto my face. "Bush a ways south of here. I don't think we'll run out any time soon. So… eat up."

As Adelia shoves the berries into her mouth, I peer over the things she's laid out. For food, it looks like all we've got is a tin of saline crackers and a head of lettuce, wrapped tightly in plastic.

The pile of weapons is even more discouraging: just a pocketknife and a short fold-up spear. I add my machete to the pile to make it seem bigger, which strangely raises my spirits. We're not completely helpless in this game of death after all.

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

"We only killed eight tributes. That's embarrassing," Jaehaera mumbles, her sword swinging at her side like a ray of sheer destruction. It's almost like her fury is being channeled into the weapon, like it's actually part of her being.

"Not as bad as two years ago. The 81st only had five bloodbath deaths, remember?"

Jaehaera grunts in response.

"And the career pack had six members that year. This year we only have three, so on proportion we're pretty much nailing it."

We don't talk for a long time after that. I can tell Jaehaera's embarrassed out of her wits. Back in 1, whenever we watched coverage of past games at the academy the trainers would always point out the leaders. The tributes that last the longest because they're dutiful enough to keep control over their packs. And given she has the highest odds Jaehaera should rightfully be the leader. But what good is that when there's only two people to order around instead of five?

The 2 girl checks her watch and announces lunchtime.

We stop dead in our tracks. By the looks of things, we're in one of the leaf-strewn clearings, and it's brighter in here than anywhere else in the forest; the sunlight streaming in through the open sky, unobstructed by branches and leaves, is golden, there's no other word to describe it.

"What'd you bring?" I ask, hoping to catch Jaehaera in a conversation about anything other than the games.

She shrugs, pulling out her lunch. A bit of meat. A roll of bread. A cup of green beans.

"I have pretty much the same thing." I pull out a small piece of cheese and a biscuit with carrots.

"That's not the same thing," Jaehaera snarls.

I let out a chuckle. "Yeah, I lied about the meat. And the bread. And the beans. I lied about the whole thing."

"Just eat," she snaps.

I sit cross-legged on the leaves, finding the sounds of them popping and crunching under my weight oddly satisfying.

Well this girl is going to be hard to be friends with. I'm just going for humor, and she's playing the serious role of pack leader. Just one laugh and then—and then maybe I'd feel a little more upbeat. Just maybe?

"Hey."

Jaehaera raises her eyebrows. "Mmm?"

"I fell into a well yesterday," I say, grinning.

"So you're stupid."

"Nah, I just couldn't see that well."

Crickets.

"Why are you being so serious?" I demand.

Jaehaera just sighs. "If I was smart I'd had intervened at the reaping in your district so you didn't end up in the games. Sadly, given some…" she pauses here, "rules and restrictions about inter-district travel, such an intervention was impossible. Now let's hunt. The sun will be down in a few hours."

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

I peer down at the bright green leaves that litter the forest ground. From my elevated perch in the crook of the whimsically-curved tree, I can both easily remain out of sight and spot any attackers early.

Being from District 4, I'm sure everyone is surprised I didn't run straight for the lake. Up here in the tall oak two miles north of the horn is pretty much as far away as I can be from my element. Isn't it fun to surprise the Capitol audience?

My stomach grumbles, and it's only now that I truly realize how hungry and thirsty I am.

That's when a flash of movement catches my eye. I turn to the left so sharply that my neck hurts. There's a tiny creature staring back at me from underneath the blanket of foliage on the forest floor. I'd recognize its bushy tail and auburn-colored fur anywhere—a weasel. Food.

I shift my weight ever so slightly to the left, allowing myself to place my foot on the tree trunk. Ever so carefully, I make my way to the ground. If I make one sudden movement, the weasel will flee. Infinite care is essential.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the two serrated knives I grabbed from the horn, my only possessions unless you count the pack of some unidentified yellow substance I grabbed on a whim.

As I close the distance between us, the weasel keeps staring at me curiously with its wide, shiny black beads of eyes.

The world is still.

Slam! I pounce forward, bringing my knives down onto the weasel. I feel one of my knives dig into the ground—I speared it through the weasel's tail, and it's now thrashing back and forth, trying to free itself. I end the poor thing's life with a slash of my knife, and it falls still.

Carefully, I pull the dead squirrel back to my safe haven in the oak tree. Ugh… I have to skin it. I've seen this done a few times before in my life and have always cringed at the thought of doing it myself. I use my knives to cut a ring around the center of the deceased animal… I grab one end in each hand and then… I pull.

I suppress a gag as the skin of the weasel is torn away and only the light-pink meat remains. I slice off everything I'm absolutely sure I can eat and discard the rest, bones and organs and all that good stuff.

Well, after everything I've done, I can't possibly put the meat to waste. I have to start a fire to cook the meat. Sure, it's risky, but I'm in an area without much water so other tributes probably won't be near.

Stuffing the weasel meat into my pocket, I fall out of the tree, rushing to gather firewood…

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

I sprint away from the cornucopia with a grin plastered onto my face. I develop a stitch in my side from running up and down the hills in the meadow, so I lean to one side and try to stick to the lower-leveled areas. If I do say so myself, I've got a fairly bountiful turnout from the bloodbath. I can't wait to settle for the night. That's when I get to take a really good look at everything that's got to last me from now to the finale.

I jog into the first line of trees, and in moments the darkness of the forest is upon me. I alternate between walking and jogging for what must be about half an hour before coming to a stop in a place I can call home.

In front of me stands a tall hill with a single tree on top, and in the side of the hill is a kind of cave. I can't see what's inside and I decide to throw a few rocks in to make sure nobody's home. Nobody is, and I crawl into the darkness, grateful for the cool it provides.

"Whatcha doing?"

I don't think I've ever jumped higher in my entire life. I come bursting out of the cave and find myself face to face with a tall boy. We could be brothers. He has the same brown hair as me, the same brown eyes as me—heck, he _is_ me. Down to the last freckle. It's like looking into a mirror.

"Who are you?" I ask, tightening my grasp around my knives.

"I'm Orford," he answers.

"No, I am," I insist.

"I guess we both are, then," he says with a laugh. _My_ laugh.

"Why are you here?" I ask.

The other Orford just sighs. "I don't have any more idea than you do. I just know I'm here to help you out, give you a helping hand if you need it."

Feeling like my head is about to explode, I sit cross-legged on the ground. Alright. If this boy says he's here to help me I can trust him for now. The gamemakers wouldn't introduce a threat to a tribute as memorable as I am this early in the games.

"Yep, you can help me with something," I say, breaking the pensive silence.

The other Orford raises his eyebrows.

"Just go and find water for me," I say. "I haven't drunk in hours."

"Whatever you say," the other Orford says, dutifully tromping off.

I pull my pack closer, wanting to get a good idea of what I'm starting with before the other Orford comes back. In the pack, I find a peanut butter and jelly sandwich kit, a few iodine tablets, some burn cream, and a tightly-wrapped bundle of firewood.

That's when I fall forward onto the pack, suddenly losing sense of everything around me. The whole world is black and then… I'm the other Orford. I come to a stop at the side of a stream barely the width of my hand. In seconds, I turn sharply on my heel, tromping back toward the original Orford to tell him I've found water for him.

Then, in a blur, I'm back to myself again. I'm in my own skin once more.

This is a devious trick, whatever it is.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **I hope you've enjoyed reading these Povs! Just as a heads-up, the next chapter might take a tad longer than usual. Life is somewhat hectic right now and I'm pouring lots of my creative energy into another fic, the first chapter of which has yet to be posted to this site… It might end up here at one point or another, but don't hold your breath :D**

 **Question: If you could have a conversation with one Hunger Games character, who would it be?**


	33. When Darkness Falls (Day 1)

**District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Shivering, I slip my sleeping bag off and turn it inside out before wiggling back inside. Now that the side that reflects heat is touching my body I should be able to keep warm until morning. It's incredible how much the temperature of the forest has changed from day to night. Two hours ago I can swear it was twenty degrees warmer than it is now.

After a good half hour of staring at the stars, I roll out of my sleeping bag. No use just lying around pointlessly when I could be doing work.

I reach into my pack and pull out all of the supplies I've managed to grab from the cornucopia: two rolls of bread wrapped in a thick plaid napkin, a bottle of green liquid labeled "antidote" and a coil of wire.

Time to put my skills to the test. Ever since escaping the bloodbath this morning I've been deliberating whether or not to build snares. I've build no shortage of snares throughout my orphanhood back in 6. Whenever the baker remembers to lock his windows they're the number one way to get food.

But on the other hand, that route will be extremely dangerous. In past Hunger Games, it's common for outliers to go completely unnoticed by careers because they hide in time to be passed by. If a career spots my snares, they'll know they're not alone in that area of the arena for sure.

They'll attack, or call for reinforcements, or…

No use thinking about it right now. I'm not dead yet.

Trying not to shake like a leaf in the bitter night chill, I reach into my pack and pull out the coil of wire. There are a lot of different snare designs, but I end up deciding to go for the simplest one. It's not particularly efficient, but I have a lot of wire so I'll be able to build more.

After a few seconds of searching, I find a sturdy stick shaped like an uppercase Y and plant it into the earth, packing the soil around it to keep it sturdy. I put both hands on my roll of wire and make a small loop at the end. I cut off a piece about three feet long and pass the other end through the loop. The result is an O-shape that will tighten whenever pressure is put on it; the perfect way to catch unsuspecting arms and legs.

By the time I finish assembling a second snare, my eyelids feel like they're being dragged downward by invisible bowling balls. I can finish a few more in the morning. Getting a good night's rest is more important. I squirm into my inside-out sleeping bag, washed over by the forest sounds that have always brought me comfort on nights back in 6 when my pals and I had to sleep in some pretty weird places to keep from being found. In no time, a dark wave of sleep washes over me, dragging away my thoughts one by one until my senses cease to exist.

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

Declan moves quietly over the foliage at my side, our shadows growing longer and longer in front of us as the sun grows closer and closer to the horizon.

"It's getting chilly," Declan remarks, crossing his arms as if to maintain precious body heat.

I let out a swift breath and watch it fog up in the air in front of me. He's right. I'm not the best at telling temperature, but by the feel of the air it must be about fifty degrees, give or take a few.

In the end I just nod in acknowledgement.

"So… meaning… when are we gonna set up camp?"

I turn to the right, making eye contact with him. Really, I can't even call it eye contact; it's already so dark I can't see his eyes as anything but glowing dots that only stand out slightly against the backdrop of the misty forest.

He takes this as the yes I'm implying, and in moments we're both kneeling down on the ground unpacking the tent we brought with us. Ever since I saw the other careers, saw that I'd only have Nero and Declan and that stupid Sangria to fight by my side in the games, I've just felt so mad! Ever since I was a little girl I've had dreams of being a pack leader. Giving orders to four or five other tributes like real District 2 careers, and running headfirst into the finale to beat down my final competitor. But this year's pack is so disconnected and so out-of-the-ordinary, I wouldn't even call it a pack. We have three members, and we have twelve outliers to kill. I know there have been worse years, but it's hard not to be just a little peeved when the vision I've had in my head for nearly a decade has been shattered into a million tiny pieces.

I can only imagine what Rhaenys is thinking back home in 2. She must be laughing her head off at me—me, the strongest tribute in the games, setting up a tent two miles away from the horn with only one other tribute to quote-unquote "lead"? I must look pathetic.

"That screws in the other way!" I shout to Declan, who looks to be struggling with fitting one of the legs into the frame of the tent.

"Sorry. Just… intentionally assembling the legs incorrectly, over a cup of tea, you know, silly me…"

It's about five minutes before we have the whole thing fully assembled. Declan and I walk in circles around it, inspecting every facet to make sure there aren't any disconnected parts. Once we're sure it's properly assembled, we crawl inside.

Declan slides out of his pack and pulls out the two inflatable plastic mattresses. Since we don't have a pump, we have to blow them up with our mouths, which is a pain, but we finish quickly enough.

I volunteer for the first shift, staring at the stars as the 1 boy's soft snores rise behind me. Can you really blame a girl for being grumpy when all she has is a wad of broken dreams and a cold tent with two inflatable mattresses?

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

I plant the shovel firmly into the ground and then press it down against the ground like a wedge, tugging out the scoop of soil. I toss it to the right, and it makes a slight humming sound as it flutters down onto the foliage.

One scoop down, Snow-knows-how-many left.

I'm currently at what is probably the most ambitious project of my life. In theory, I'm attempting to dig a hole six or so feet deep. Then I can line foliage over it to hide it from view. If a tribute steps on the leaves and falls inside the trap, they'd be, well, trapped.

Of course, the hole won't be so deep they'd be stuck inside forever. I guess their screams would alert me and I could rush to the scene to polish them off… like a spider to her web.

The reason I'm starting the project at night is that doing it in the daytime is extremely risky. If I want the trap to have any sort of real use, it has to be built in an area that lots of tributes will probably pass through. And if a stronger tribute passes by me during the daytime, I'll end up with a lot more trouble than I bargained for. Sure, I'll have my blowpipe, but I'll be disoriented and my odds of escaping that skirmish would be slim to none.

So I resolve to get most of my work done in the nighttime when less tributes will be about. Turns out, the lack of other tributes isn't the only perk; by the time night has fallen, I can see my breath in front of me. I have to keep moving about to stay warm. The cold motivates me to get work done.

I'd estimate about an hour passes before I've made the hole three feet deep. The thing is, as the hole gets deeper and deeper the odds of a cave-in increases exponentially. If the trap caved in on me, I could be suffocated in moments.

I head over to a nearby tree and tear off several strips of bark. I end up wedging them into the edges of the hole and then stacking more strips between them, creating a sort of "wall". It won't be permanent, but it's better than nothing for the time being.

I only go to sleep when the hole hits four feet deep. In 5 we always called that the tipping point; beyond four feet deep, a shovel becomes useless and one has to manually claw out the dirt in tiny pieces.

Unfortunately, I haven't found any streams or rivers, and I'm not willing to waste a single drop of my precious water supply, so I can't wash the dirt off of my hands. Smeared pretty much head-to-toe with grime, I slide down against a nearby tree, letting the nighttime sounds of the forest consume me.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

I move slightly under the curtain of foliage that serves as my blanket, guarding me against the chill of the night. I peer upward at the black sheet of the sky scattered with twinkling stars, waiting for the death recap to come on. Midnight must be any moment now, unless my internal clock is seriously screwed up, which I highly doubt given how early it is in the games.

Bored, I throw out my arms onto the forest grass behind me, and they don't touch anything but that—grass. As far as I know, me and the girl from 3 are the only tributes who avoided the bloodbath. I'm supply-less.

It turns out, I'm keeping track of the time pretty well. The Capitol seal flickers in the sky for a few moments and then stands there, illuminating the forest so brightly it might as well be daytime. Then come the faces. The girl from 1. The boy from 3. The boy from 4. The boy from 5. The girl from 6. Both from 8. The girl from 9. The boy from 12.

The 12 boy's face fades, and then, in an instant, the forest is dark once more.

I crawl down further into the blanket of leaves, a cloak of darkness surrounding me on all sides. But it isn't just ordinary darkness. This darkness feels somehow heavier, somehow denser than any I've ever felt before.

Maybe it's the thought that a tribute could creep up behind me and I'd have no idea. Maybe it's the thought there could be swarms of deadly mutts all around me. Maybe it's one of a million other things. Maybe it's all of them.

It's these tough questions that have puzzled me for my entire life. Being deaf, I'm told I'm missing out on some critical branch of the human condition, but how? It's not like I've ever known what sound is. A deaf person like me trying to imagine sound is like a normal person trying to imagine what it would feel like to sprout a third arm and somehow have new sensation they didn't before.

No use getting all existential right now. Those thoughts can wait for later. The gamemakers rarely introduce threats this early in the competition; there'll be a time to be worried and that time is not now.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **11 and 12: Adelia, Remi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **Here's the last part of Day 1! Don't forget that the days will move by more quickly as more tributes die off, so the story won't take a million years to finish. And also, I've gotten several sponsor requests already; just hold out a little longer, sponsoring starts next chapter :D**

 **Question: If you could live in one of the 12 districts (assuming there aren't any economic differences and you'll have a good life there), which one would it be?**

 **P.S. I decided to do another raffle. Everyone who answers the question will get 10 points as usual, and then I'll put the names of the people who answer into a hat. Then I'll pick one person and they'll get 50 bonus points. May the odds be ever in your favor…**


	34. There's a Whisper in the Willows (Day 2)

**District 12: Remi Gardner (17) Pov-**

The morning wind rustles through the trees, creating a jarring hum that chills me to the bone. It's almost like the rustling fronds are singing, casting a sense of foreboding over the scene. I can't shake it out of my head that danger is coming.

This is going to make me sound like some kind of nature-loving hippy, but I'm absolutely convinced the trees can predict the future. All the years I've hunted in the woods to keep my family alive have taught me that there are so many different kinds of wind. The light, warm ones mean that prey is near. The sweet-smelling winds signal it's about to rain. And the harsh, cold, biting ones tell as clear as crystal that something bad is about to happen.

I sit up in my sleeping bag. The sun's first rays of the new day illuminate our hilltop home. I suppose the first order of business is to make sure we haven't been robbed, whether by tribute or mutt.

I peer down at my arm, where I scribbled down a list of all of our supplies using a pen some sponsor sent me for whatever reason.

For weapons: our pocketknife, our fold-up spear, and my machete. Check, check, check. The wind has blown morning dew over their blades so that they shine somewhat. But not in a pretty way. The wind is making everything way more terrifying.

And for food: the small package of cheese and the head of lettuce. It doesn't seem like a lot on paper, but I have to remind myself that we also have the raspberry bush a ways south.

I eat about half of the cheese package before waking Adelia.

"What?" she asks, rolling over in her sleeping bag.

"We need to get up bright and early," I explain. "Before the others are up."

"Come on, girl," Adelia says, moving slightly out of her sleeping bag. "We don't have school. We're in the Hunger Games. It's like… eternal Saturday. At least let me sleep in."

"Fine," I say, slightly disappointed. "I'll just gather some more raspberries, and, if you get hungry, you can finish the cheese or start on the lettuce."

Adelia nods, and I quietly scamper south toward the raspberry bush.

It's mere minutes before I come to my first mark—a pile of three stones I assembled yesterday, sitting near a small pond. I've never drunk from the pond, mainly because Adelia and I don't have any iodine capsules. Besides, we get enough water intake from the raspberries.

I arrive at the berry bush about a quarter of an hour later. Actually, bush might not be the right word. It's more of a grove. Ten or twelve different plants bearing the bright-red fruit surround a thin, tall willow tree.

In a few minutes, my pockets are bursting at the seams. I gorge as many of the berries as I can and then pile them up in my hands before venturing back to camp. Being a 12 girl, I have a pretty good since of direction. Even without retracing my markings, I make progress back home remarkably quickly.

An earsplitting scream rings from the direction of our camp.

My stomach sinks into my waist, and my heartrate seems to double. Adelia is in trouble.

"Stop it! GET AWAY FROM ME!" Adelia's screams can be heard even from my distance.

"I'M COMING!" I scream. "STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

I burst onto the scene and find myself greeted with a particularly odd sight. Three creatures with the upper bodies of men and lower bodies of horses—centaurs—crowd around my ally, each holding bows and aiming directly at Adelia.

I reach for my machete, only to realize I left it behind. I spot it next to the writhing 11 girl, shining in the ever-brightening sunlight.

Well, drastic times call for drastic measures. I hurl one handful of berries at the nearest centaur as if in an attempt to distract it, but it pays no notice to me.

The centaurs draw close to Adelia, and her screams grow louder. They release their arrows.

"No!"

But it's too late. Three of the arrows land in her body—one in her neck, one in her torso, one in her leg.

Her cannon shot is loud.

Once, when I was hunting, I was perched in the bough of a tall tree, watching a deer, when the branch snapped and I fell twenty feet to the ground. I wasn't injured, luckily, but this is the only time since I've felt that feeling of complete anguish—like fire is raging through my body, like I can't form a single conscious thought because I'm so shocked.

I turn to run.

One of the centaur mutts lets out a kind of battle cry behind my back, but I don't turn around. Completely defenseless, I race over the foliage, breathing having seemingly accelerated tenfold. I have to get away from those horrid mutts no matter what I have to do.

The thought of Adelia's lifeless corpse, like a candle with a flame blown out, powers me forward. Eventually, the cries of the centaurs fade further and further. I think I've lost them.

Shaking fiercely, I drop with exhaustion in a sunlit patch of bushes. My entire body is on fire. I'm going to die from this pain. My arms and legs are going to explode. Hey, what's that shadow moving closer…?

I can't help but let out a scream. The muscular District 2 boy towers over me, holding a glistening sword: three feet of deadly iron. Just beyond him is the cornucopia—aw, darn, I was running straight toward the cornucopia! Couldn't I have spared an instant to pick a better direction before fleeing senselessly?

But I don't have any time to brood over my bad decision. The 2 boy thrusts his sword into my gut. White-hot pain fires through my body, worse than I've ever felt before. Every cell in my body is about to explode. Please let this pain go away. Or better yet, let me die right here on the forest floor.

The last thing I see is the blade of his weapon as it cuts into my neck. Then it's lights out for good.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

I pull the tightly-wrapped cube of cheese out of my pack, stomach rumbling with hunger. At first I'm apprehensive about eating it; besides my apple, it's the only food I grabbed from the horn yesterday. I should save it for when I need it more. But I figure that I won't ever make it that far if I starve to death this early in the games.

I score up the dirt with my foot and coat a layer of earth over the wrapper. The taste of the cheese in my mouth is almost heavenly.

My hands reach out and pull aside the curtain of branches that have hidden me from sight for the entire night. Immediately, the nearby stream comes into view. I can't bear to leave anything behind in case I can't find my way back, so I shove all of my things into my pack except my hunting knives (I keep them in my hands, just in case) and tread quietly to the riverside.

I cup my hands and scoop out a handful of cool water which I use to wipe the grime off of my hands and face.

I stand up to walk back to my camp, but something catches my eye—or many things, rather. The green plants with pink blossoms dotting the riverside. The harsh morning breeze throws itself over me, picking up the scent of the blossoms and flooding my nose with the aroma of something flowery I might have smelled in my parents' kitchen back home back in 9.

Before I can stop myself, I've kneeled by the blossoms and picked four of them. It's like being in heaven to sniff them up-close. I put them close to my mouth without thinking about it.

Do I eat them? Do I dare? The plants could be poison. They could be some drug that'll make me go crazy. They could…

Too late. I've already shoved them in my mouth, and it instantly floods with saliva. Before I can stop myself, I've stuffed my face full of the petals. The world instantly looks brighter now that my stomach is full. Says a lot about my upbringing if you think about it.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

The moving boulder haunts my nightmares. I know it's the stupidest thing imaginable, but the way I see it there are only two possibilities. The first is that the boulder moved almost half a mile while I wasn't looking. I can't seem to shake the image out of my head of it having sprouted legs like a mutant spider to follow behind me. And the second possibility is that it was a different boulder that I saw the second time. My handprint on the surface was left by another tribute.

And I suppose there's a third possibility. I'm literally going crazy.

I come to a stop in a cluster of tall, thin trees before setting down my trifecta of supplies: my sleeping bag, my pocketknife, and, of course, my yo-yo.

It takes a surprisingly short time for me to find food. About a quarter mile away from where I settled there's a tree bearing bright-orange fruit; peaches. Fortunately, being from 11 has at least one advantage: I have a knack for recognizing what's edible and what's not—what I can trust and what I can't.

I eat two peaches and shove two more into my pockets before returning to my camp. Given that I have food and water (there's a pond about twenty feet away that I sip from to quench my thirst) my next order of business is making shelter.

And there's only one way to do that. The hardcore way. Gathering branches and stacking them like logs.

I trim my nails with a sharp rock and start to search for sticks when I spot something. Inside of my yo-yo, there's a red flash. It only lasts for an instant, but it only takes that long for me to figure out there's more to the plastic toy than meets the eye. I find the yo-yo breaks in half as smoothly as silk, and inside is a compass with a hand that wiggles slightly as it points dutifully north.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **15th: Adelia Faye, District 11 Female – Shot with arrows, by centaur mutts**

When I first read Adelia's form I didn't have a solid opinion on her. She seemed a bit cliché having lots of younger siblings in a poor district, but there was more to her than being a carbon copy of Katniss Everdeen. I liked how she was the studious one of her family but unfortunately most of her personality traits were obscured by the stress of the pre-games. Sadly she never made it far enough to see her family again D:

 **14th: Remi Gardner, District 12 Female – Stabbed with sword, by Nero**

Remi, Remi, Remi. This girl was the source of some fun scenes, no doubt. Like her ally Adelia I at first felt she was one of the million Katniss clones out there, especially being female and from District 12, but even so I liked how… is cunning even the right word? Mysterious. Always brimming with ambition. If her creator is reading this, sorry for your loss. I hope her family can manage to put food on the table without her. If not, I use my secret author powers to send them a lifetime's worth. Oh, and one other thing. I know her death was a little rushed, but the characters will discuss it more later to make up for the brevity.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Mavvi, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **A/N: I am terribly, awfully sorry for the terribly, awfully long wait for this chapter. Between family obligations, schoolwork, and composing my clarinet sonata, time to write has been slim to none. I'm just glad I got this out before I leave for vacation in a few days. And so two more tributes are down! With Remi's death District 12 is now the second district to lose both of its tributes, after District 8.**

 **Sponsoring is now open! For those of you who haven't seen the rules yet they're pretty simple. You can only sponsor a tribute in a chapter that contains their Pov (so for now you can only sponsor Luc and Jaro). If you want to sponsor a different tribute you'll have to wait until a chapter with their Pov. The note is a maximum of three words by default, but you can make it longer if you need to by paying more points (see the bottom of the sponsor system for exact prices). You have twenty-four hours from the posting of this chapter to PM me or review if you want to sponsor one of these two gentlemen.**

 **And finally, the winner of last chapter's random competition was Sparky She-Demon! Congrats to them.**

 **Question: If you could save Finnick, Prim, or Rue from death, who would it be?**


	35. Get What You Deserve (Day 2)

**District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

The forest foliage crunches underneath my foot as I step down onto the ground. I dangle from the branch for a few moments, held on only by my hands, before dropping. Sharp pain bolts through my legs, and my knees bend from the pain of hitting the forest floor.

I check myself quickly for injury. With the exception of a few mud smears I'm clear of harm.

Holding a hand over my eyes like a visor to keep out the first rays of the rising sun, I grab up my only weapon; a rock I sharpened for hours last night. Its point is incredibly fine; admittedly maybe not enough to be lethal, but whatever, it'll still be enough to make a person disoriented.

That's when the sour-smelling wind hits me. Strange and cruel and foreign. It's not actually that cold, but I'm chilled the bone nonetheless.

"Get away from me!"

I whip around at the sound of a human voice. Through a remarkably clear stretch of forest, I make out the form of a thrashing girl. Her uniform tells me she's from 11. We spent a bit of time at the fire-starting station together, so I know her well. An invisible hand tugs on my heart, and I freeze in place. Do I run to help her? Do I flee and save my own life?

But the decision is made for me. Her cannon shot is loud.

Before I know it, I'm racing over the earth, speeding away from the dead girl and the centaur mutts that surround her. My breathing accelerates tenfold at every slight crunch and snap of the forest. The purple mountains are my focal point, the thing I look at when I don't have anything else; something about their picturesque slopes draws me like a fly to a sugar bowl.

My heart leaps into my throat and my blood turns to ice as I bump into something soft and hard at the same time. Another tribute. I fall to the ground, hitting the forest floor, and the other tribute falls on top of me. The wind is knocked out of my lungs for a second, but I manage to start breathing normally after a few moments.

The other tribute is a girl. She has stunningly clear dark skin and black hair in a ponytail down her back. It's like three ropes are tugging at me from all sides. Should I let her go without hurting her? Propose an alliance? Kill her?

I get to my feet. "A surprise seeing you here," I mutter. "How's life?"

"Bad," she responds. I can't help but notice that her voice sounds a little funny. In explanation, she holds a finger up to her ear, then crosses her two hands to form an "X". That's right. It's the girl from 10 and she's deaf. But she's reading my lips extraordinarily well.

"Can't say many words," the 10 girl says. "Want to ally?"

I'm uttering the word yes before I can stop myself. Even with her disability she's another human to keep me company in the games. Even now my body feels a little warmer. I won't be completely alone in the harsh games to come.

Then again, this might be a terrible idea. She might have joined the careers and she might be some kind of puppet to draw me into a trap. This could be the start of something ugly. Like the snowball rolling down the hill of "fuck you" and eventually leading to my death.

She nods and smiles, sitting down on the ground. I follow her example.

"Name?"

"Mavvi Levist."

"Any supplies on you?"

Mavvi shakes her head. "You and I are the only people who ran from the horn."

"At least I have this," I say with a slight smirk, lifting up my sharpened stone.

To my surprise, Mavvi reaches into her pocket and pulls out a rock of her own. It's not as sharp as mine, but it looks like she's been toiling at it for hours if not days.

"No use messing around," I say. "Let's start on a shelter. You gather the branches. I'll clear an area. We can get it done before noon if we work quickly."

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

The other Orford's been keeping me awake all night. His snoring is much too loud for my liking and he moves his limbs too much when he sleeps. When I think about it that's saying a thing or two about myself. If he's truly an exact replica of me then that must be how I sleep. Cruel how ironic the games can be, eh?

When I finally deduce I'm not getting any more sleep, I crawl out of the small cave, being careful as to not wake the other Orford. Judging by the moon it's about three in the morning, and even though he gets on my nerves there's no way I'm committing the deadly sin of waking somebody up at three A.M.

I reach a hand into my pack and feel around for the peanut butter and jelly-sandwich kit. I pull out the smooth plastic box and pop it open. I make myself a sandwich and take sporadic bites from it as I take a short walk. It's not the most productive thing I could be doing, not by a long shot, but I feel it's a good way to start my day. You know, get my limbs stretching a bit. If that even makes scientific sense.

My travels take me to a bush populated by small brown nuts. I'm full from the sandwich and don't need to eat them right now, but I don't want to let them go to waste in case I can't find them again. I pick off all of the nuts and stuff them into my shirt pockets.

A hiss tumbles from my lips as a chorus of sharp claws wraps itself around my ankle.

I turn down, expecting to see some horrific mutt—but it's just a weasel. And a small weasel at that. Barely larger than my hand. Once again, I don't need to eat at the moment, but there's no way I'm passing down good food. And besides, he was the one who made himself seen. He'll get what he deserves.

I kill the weasel with one of my knives before traipsing back to camp. By the time I arrive, the other Orford is awake. He sits cross-legged in the cave entrance, fidgeting with our pack.

"Hungry?" I ask, setting down my pocketful of nuts and the dead weasel.

The other Orford shakes his head. "I'm not hungry."

"But you haven't eaten anything in a whole day," I insist.

He pushes the food away. "I told you, all I know is I'm here to help you. I can't take your food. I don't think my throat even works. Eat it all yourself."

The other Orford continues to grow more and more peculiar by the hour. Accepting defeat, I drop the nuts and the small animal into my pack for later.

"Who are you?" I ask. "What are you? Why are you here? And don't just say 'I don't know'. I have to know." I'm surprised at how angry the words sound as they burst out of my mouth.

"Sorry I can't give you anything else, pal," he responds. "I don't know who I am any more than you do. Now let's find something that can cover the cave entrance. It gets super cold at night."

I just nod, not exactly comforted.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

I sit in silence beside the lake, the lapping of the water making me shiver despite the heat of the day. Everything here is just so creepy. If I didn't have Erik with me I can't say I wouldn't have gone crazy already.

Every attempt to get onto my feet is quelled by a kind of overwhelming terror that forces my limbs back to the ground. Is this was an anxiety attack is like? I hope I don't sound too high-and-mighty when I say I've never had one before, so I can't be sure.

Actually, that's a lie. The memory of my gleaning hatchet blade as it punctured Joule's neck...

"How long have you been up?" calls Erik's sleep-added voice from behind me.

I turn around slowly, making sure the sand doesn't smear on my clothes. "An hour maybe."

Erik raises his eyebrows. "And you've just been sitting there?"

An invisible hand squeezes my chest, and before I know it tears are pouring down my face in torrents. My breaths are more like sporadic throbs of my abdomen. He's right. All I've been doing is sitting here. I'm the most useless girl in the world.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" he says, scuttling toward me. "It's alright. Take a deep breath."

I do what he says and instantly feel better. As we pack up our supplies, I can't help but feel a little brighter inside—the brightness that comes with the presence of a good friend.

"What's the deal?" I ask, tying back my chocolate-brown curls with a hair-tie I find in our admittedly shabby supply stock. "Are we going to move or what?"

Erik forms his lips into a solid line as if lost in thought. "We should probably move. The sand is too uneven to build shelter here."

A laugh escapes my lips. "I was thinking… WHAT THE?"

Erik turns around, and his smile quickly fades. He doesn't have time to scream before the bright-blue cord wraps itself around his torso. By the looks of things it's slippery from a coating of ugly purple slime.

A finger of ice runs down my spine, and for an instant I can't move. Another blue cord shoots out of the water, reaching for my ankle, and I miss it by about a millisecond. The whole world seems to dissolve around me, reduced to a kind of haze that occasionally rocks back and forth as more and more cords rise out of the lake.

Erik looks as though it's agony to choke out each word. "Cerise… Help…"

"I'm coming!" I shout, my voice quivering. "I'm coming! Just… just hold on… one second…"

Mind racing so fast I can hardly think straight, I reach for the two hatchets. The problem is that the cords look to have splashed some of their slime onto the handles. I lift the hatchets and they fly out of my hands like pumpkin seeds.

"Hurry!"

"I'm coming…. I'm going to help you… just… hold on!"

A deafening roar makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. The mass of spaghetti radiating from the lake surface is drawing itself closer and closer together, untangling, unwinding. The torso of an enormous blue kraken emerges from the water. With the roar comes an onslaught of the purple slime, drenching me from head to toe.

My feet are moving ten seconds before my brain has time to catch up. I cling onto one of the tentacles and make a desperate attempt to climb it, but the coating of slime is too thick for me to reach Erik.

"Erik!"

No response.

"Erik?" I repeat, voice cracking despite my best attempt to remain calm. "Can you hear me?"

He just groans, wrapped as tightly as ever in the monster's tentacle.

I suppose I don't have any choice but to take that as a yes.

"I'm going to toss one of our hatchets to you and you've got to cut yourself off!"

Another groan.

The plan is crazy, impossible really, but it's better than no plan at all. Dodging the dozens of tentacles struggling to wrap themselves around me, I hurl a hatchet upward. Its blade glistens in the sun briefly before landing in the kraken's tentacle.

With a roar and another avalanche of sticky purple slime, the kraken mutt drops Erik. My first instinct is to rush to his side, but I quickly stop myself. Killing off the monster if my priority at the moment.

By the time I turn to face the kraken mutt, it's already gone, its last few stray tentacles sinking below the lake surface.

"Ce… rise... help…"

I rush to my ally's side and a scream catches in my throat. His entire shirt, from the waist to the neck, is stained with dark blood. The streams issuing from all over his body are a sure sign he's losing blood quickly. I'm no medical expert, but by the looks of things he'll be dead in minutes unless some miracle happens.

I pull up Erik's shirt as though expecting the whole thing just to be a prank, as though expecting the blood to be fake. His chest is the color of raw meat, and whole strips of flesh have been torn away.

"Erik… can you hear me… are you alive…?"

He doesn't respond.

"Please… just respond… please… please… don't be dead."

No response. The lack of a cannon shot means he isn't dead yet, but he could be seconds away for all I know.

"Say something! Anything!"

Still no response.

The tears come harder than ever before. Erik's been my one companion through the chariot rides, training, the bloodbath. I've been through so much because he was at my side. He can't die right here, right now. He just can't. The thought is simply unconceivable.

At first I think the groan is just my imagination. My eyes and mouth wide open, I watch as his arm begins twitching slightly. His slightly moving chest tells me he must be breathing.

"C… c… r… s." It takes me by more surprise than it should when I realize he's trying to say my name.

"I don't know!" I scream, having given up about the fact that other tributes could hear me. "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do!"

The thought drifts toward me of the citizens of 7 watching me on their holographic television screens with the wide, tired eyes I've so often seen them wearing. Watching Cerise Yew, the poor girl who never had much of a chance anyway, cry next to her dying district partner. Shaking their heads at the screens with looks filled with pity. Pity for the broken girl whose second half is being severed from her with each drop of blood her ally loses.

* * *

 **Dun dun duuuuun! Cliffhanger!**

 **The tributes you can sponsor this chapter are Cerise, Pixel, and Orford. How will Pixel's alliance with Mavvi turn out? What's the deal with Orford's creepy twin who appeared out of nowhere? Will Cerise be able to heal Erik? Find out next time on Broken! (Sorry if that was the most cliché ending line ever. I couldn't think of anything else 0_0)**

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Ooh, more allies: Pixel, Mavvi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **Question: Do you think it was right for Katniss to shoot Alma Coin and why?**


	36. Golden Apples (Day 2)

**District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

I set down the shovel before leaning against the wide, smooth trunk of the willow tree. The sunset is stunningly beautiful—arcs of yellows and reds and purples stretch gloriously across the sky, rippling slightly as clouds pass and only fading once the large yellow orb sets completely below the horizon. There's no way I can do it justice with the English language. A picture really is worth a thousand words.

A sigh of veneration tumbles from my lips. It's hard to imagine what life once was like in District 5—being a normal sixteen-year-old girl, immortal (of course) because I had so much time to waste, I was so far from my death. But in the games, things are the exact opposite. Every slight gust of warm wind and every birdsong is a gift. Every second is a priceless treasure given that at any moment my life could end.

I have no idea how long I sit there staring at the stars. It could be twenty seconds or it could be twenty minutes. I only get back up once I feel my well-deserved break is done for and it's time to get back to work.

Wiping the grime off of my pants, I get slowly to my feet and tread toward the hole. At first the goal of making the ditch six feet deep seemed almost impossible, but now that I've reached five it sounds much more attainable.

Crawling down into the hole comes with the jolt of shock it always gives me. The thin wooden walls I've haphazardly built to keep the thing from collapsing tremble and shudder as the damp soil squishes under my feet.

It's only after I get to my knees that I realize I left my shovel at the tree trunk—but no matter. This deep a shovel is pretty much useless anyway.

My first scoop claws out about a cubic inch of dirt. Digging by hand is the only way to dig this deep down, and if it's this slow I'll surely be up all night…

A scream catches in my throat as the moonlight is suddenly blocked by something long and thin, casting its shadow on the bottom of the cylindrical hole.

I gasp and stare upward. Three nearby vines have come to life and are doing the impossible—wrapping and undulating with minds of their own, attempting to create an impenetrable seal over the top of the hole, trapping me inside.

The vines are growing fast. By the looks of things I have a few seconds to get out or else I'm in big trouble.

Claws of cold terror wrap themselves around me like ice water, but if I pride myself on anything it's my ability to think straight when I'm in a panic.

I repeat the words over and over in my head. _I'm going to escape. Adelaide Hampton is not going to die today._

Grabbing onto a thick vine, I immediately recoil in disgust at the sensation of something wiggling under the surface of the vine.

Now that I think about it, the surface of the vines are pretty rough, almost scaly…

Snakes.

The jarring realization strikes me at the same moment the first hiss rises from above. I desperately make an attempt to struggle my way out of the hole, but it's no use. One of the three snakes is already rearing up to bite me. Its fangs glow silver in the moonlight.

Before I can flinch the snake buries its fangs into my pinky finger. The pain is unbearable, like a thousand red-hot knives being driven into the square centimeter of skin. I'm surely going to die from the agony… shrivel up… just dissolve right here… only my clothes will be left…

But the three snakes slither away, apparently content, and thoughts of home bring me the power I need to hoist myself out of the hole.

The venom is setting in. Dark purple lines spread through my pinky finger, evidently poison. My vision is already fading…

I rush toward my pack and riffle through my supplies before pulling out the silver pocketknife I grabbed from the cornucopia. I flip out the blade and extend my pinky finger. In minutes the venom will spread to my other fingers unless I can stop it.

Is it worth it?

How much will it hurt?

But it's too late. I've already buried the knife into my finger and begun sawing. The pain is like fire, even worse than the pain of being bitten. My screams pierce the night. I just hope there aren't any tributes in earshot.

A gasp escapes my lips as the severed finger falls to the forest floor. I don't bother to hide it; I have bigger fish to fry. I tear off a part of my shirt and bind it over the stump of my pinky finger, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming out from the searing pain.

Cleaning out the wound is clearly the next order of business. I haven't discovered any water sources yet but knowing how early it is in the games one can't be far. It's minutes before I come to a lazily flowing stream. Without hesitation, I dunk my finger under the surface.

Red-hot pain makes me whimper despite my best efforts to keep quiet, but after that something oddly soothing falls through my hand. The pain dissolves almost instantly. A quick look at my finger through the moonlit night air tells me that the bleeding has stopped almost completely. This is no ordinary river.

The river seems to flow with a kind of melodic tinkle like some eccentric percussion instrument. No river has ever made that sound, surely… and the wobbling surface has a kind of silver-ish glow that even the finest jewels in the nation couldn't recreate.

Needless to say, I'm more than a little excited that I've discovered a stream which can heal most any injury.

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

I feel like two ropes have been tied to my neck, and they're tugging me in opposite directions. I can't move in either direction because the other one is holding me back. I can just sit there crying my ass off, hoping against hope that one of the ropes will loosen and I'll be allowed to pick a side.

I just killed a human being.

A living, breathing human being with a heart and a soul just like me.

I never knew her name but she probably had a family. Maybe even a sweetheart. People who loved her.

I know that remorse is the most shameful think a career can show in the games. But I can't hold the tears back. What the hell was I thinking volunteering into these games? Volunteering to end helpless lives with my sword?

I'm gladder than ever to have the cornucopia around me. There aren't any cameras to pick up on my tears.

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

There's an unpleasant rubbery squishing sound as my teeth slide against the meat of the weasel I killed yesterday morning. I managed to start a quick fire and cook the meat without anybody noticing. Even if I had left the fire burning for a long time I don't think any of the other tributes would have seen it; smaller fires don't give off nearly enough smoke for anyone to see them from more than a few dozen feet away.

Look at me talking like some kind of nature expert. I've never started a fire in my entire life before now.

After crunching on the last few savory bits of weasel meat, I discard the bone and cover it with a bit of dirt to keep anyone from finding it and knowing I've been here.

That's when a feeling strikes me I've never imagined I could feel in the Hunger Games. Boredom. I have nothing to do. I'm full. The little stream I found a few hours ago could supply me with more water than I could ever drink in a year. I've got a sufficient albeit unstable branch shelter. What now? Do I sit around on my butt doodling in the dirt? Do I go hunting for other tributes, or for more food?

I eventually decide my best option is to move around. I won't actually be leaving my shelter; I'm planning to walk in the shape of a circle about a mile in diameter that'll lead me back to where I started. That's hopefully how it'll work anyway.

I haven't walked ten steps when a sound makes my heart skip a beat. The wave of relief when I turn around is invigorating. A silver parachute beeps slightly as it drifts down to the earth, eventually landing soundlessly about ten feet away.

Hardly daring to breathe, heart beating a mile a minute, I approach the metal tray. Inside is a piece of spun-silver cloth hardly larger than a pack of gum, with a small black button in the dead-center…

I press the button before I can stop myself. The thing produces a popping sound that gives me the impression some kind of tension has been released, and in a fraction of a second I'm holding a sleeping bag. I'm also holding a note that says,

 _Dory,_

 _Stay warm._

 _~C_

I lay the bag on the ground and slide inside. Despite the cold of the afternoon, I feel toasty warm.

I practice folding and unfolding it for a few moments before tucking it into my pocket to continue my circular journey.

It sure is hard to keep track of things like time in the Hunger Games. By the time I come to the silver-leafed tree bearing golden apples, I've completely lost track of the stuff. I could have left camp five minutes ago or five hours ago. Thinking about it, I can't remember what I was doing ten minutes ago, or even ten seconds ago.

I sit cross-legged next to the golden apple tree…

Golden apple tree?

Golden apple tree!

The jigsaw pieces all fall into place. Faster than I ever have in my life I jump to my feet and sprint away from the tree.

The legend of the golden apple tree is a creepy classic where I grew up in 4. We always told it at sleepovers over those supernatural communication boards for a scare. Now that we're older we realize the legend is pretty stupid, but it remains creepy nonetheless.

The story goes that a merchant and his wife once travelled to the beaches of 4 on vacation, and without warning the merchant suddenly grabbed a knife and killed himself. As he died, his wife swore she had seen two glowing white eyes peering at her from around the dark kitchen corner. When she left the house yelling for someone to call the police, she spotted the golden apple tree sitting in her lawn, as though it had always been there. As she approached it her memory began to fade, and in moments had fallen asleep, never to rise again. She was dead in moments more. Her neighbor, an eyewitness, later stated she had seen a pair of glowing white eyes from behind the tree as she watched her beloved neighbor crumple to the ground in death. From then on hundreds of stories sprouted up across Panem. Stories of glowing white eyes immediately preceding disaster.

The people who moved into the house next, an attractive young couple, began hearing strange scratching noises from outside their front door. Whenever they looked through the keyhole to see what was going on outside all they saw was white. The couple and their baby girl mysteriously disappeared the next day. And you can probably guess what had appeared in the middle of their sitting room, its golden apples and silver leaves killing anyone who came near.

The reason the legend is so scary is because it preys on humanity's greatest fear: the fear of the unknown. It leaves so much unexplained.

Whether the legend is true or not, I'm getting the hell away from that tree. It's giving me the creeps.

I pat my pocket to ensure I still have my fold-up tent. And before I can take a step in the other direction I feel a cold hand wrap around my ankle.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Ooh, more allies: Pixel, Mavvi**

 **Jack and Jill: Cerise, Erik**

 **Loners (For Now): Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Luc, Orford**

* * *

 **Dory's Pov was my first attempt at writing horror in my life. Was it at least a little scary? Just a little? No? Here's a little factoid. When I started the chapter it was going to be called "A Thousand Words" and the golden apple tree was just going to try and strangle Dory. But then I got this random idea and here we are! Thank you all for reading, and please consider leaving a review, I read them all :D**

 **Question: If you were reaped for the Hunger Games, how would you act for your interview? (funny, mysterious, sexy?)**


	37. Smelly Rhymes (Day 3)

**District 7: Erik Nordskov (18) Pov-**

There are so many things I feel I can't fully describe with words.

The burning pain from my leg, of course. Where the kraken mutt tore away whole strips of flesh with its ugly tentacles.

The damp forest floor under my back.

Blackness. Punctuated by small visions of the world outside.

Cerise. The way her eyes look just like Rhiannon's.

My heart pulsing slowly but dutifully, barely keeping me alive.

The ring on my finger. Put there a week ago though it feels like an eternity.

The sour-smelling wind and the rustling noise it brings.

The crowing ravens from above. Scavengers. They must know that a tasty dinner is near. A boy whose heart is about to stop. Whose lungs are about to stop working.

Me.

At one point Cerise presses a few leaves onto my leg.

The agony comes out of my mouth as a weird blubber.

Then a sponsor parachute beeps from nearby. Cerise rushes to see what's inside and she returns with a piece of armor that could easily cover my chest.

Would have been helpful about a day ago. But there's no saving me now.

The next minute she tears off a little of my shirt to bind over the wound.

Her tears fall heavy on my flesh.

The world fades further and further each second. My life force is cold as it drains itself out of my body.

The last ray of sun I will ever see is brilliant gold.

Cerise leans down and kisses me on the lips. The last thing I will ever feel. Her lips taste like chocolate and raspberries. Just like how I imagined.

* * *

 **District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

For the first time in these games I wake up before Jaehaera. It's a weird skill I've always had, being able to wake up at any time I want. Pretty much eliminates the need for an alarm clock, though it's not like I could ever get one in these games if I wanted one.

A glance of contempt is all I give to her sleeping form before rolling up my sleeping bag. At the start of these games I respected her as the pack leader even though I might not have liked her tactics. Now she's just being a jerk to me on a regular basis. I'd honestly consider abandoning if it weren't this early in the games.

But if current trends continue we're on course for the earliest split in a long time.

Once I've rolled up my sleeping bag I collapse the tent, careful not to make any noise. I eventually manage to get everything packed up without waking Jaehaera, who still sleeps about ten feet away. Getting on that girl's bad side is the last thing I want for the time being.

A few minutes-long journey takes me to a small stream where I take a few sips of water before filling our thermoses.

I turn around to leave, but before I can take a step back toward Jaehaera my eyes catch onto something brilliant silver. I make out a head of white hair as smooth as silk, and an elegant, horse-like body…

I've never heard of unicorns hurting humans before, but I figure just to be safe I should leave quickly.

That's when I notice there isn't just one. There's a whole family. Three of the unicorns lean down and sip water greedily from the stream, their silly pink tongues splashing back and forth under the water.

One of them notices my footprints on the riverside and neighs with rage, and one thing becomes clear.

I've trespassed on their stream and they're going to make me pay.

Adrenaline powers me forward to reach the camp in an impossibly short amount of time.

"Jaehaera, Jaehaera, Jaehaera!" I shout, dropping down beside my bag of weapons.

"What, what, what?" she demands, sitting up in her sleeping bag.

But I don't have to explain. Before I can open my mouth the three unicorn mutts have appeared out of nowhere. Jaehaera gives me a poisonous look that says, "what did you do that was stupid enough to get on the bad side of these things," and, sighing, grabs her sword, ready for battle.

It soon becomes apparent that we're hopeless against the trio of magic creatures. Whenever we hurt them their horns just glow and in seconds their wounds are healed.

"Run?" I ask, peering over at Jaehaera, who nods.

We run.

* * *

 **District 10: Mavvi Levist (17) Pov-**

The smell of the pancakes rhymes with warm summer mornings spent in my small slum house back in 10. My father made pancakes for us whenever he had a little extra money for flour. They were always my favorite. Some of my fondest memories are from his kitchen, standing on a pile of old books to see what my father was doing on the countertop that was too high for me.

"You're a good cook," I sign, swallowing down a mouthful of Pixel's pancakes. "Who taught you?"

It takes me a while to get her to understand everything I'm signing. For pretty much all of last night I was teaching her sign language and she was teaching me more speech, but even so we're a little clunky.

Pixel shrugs, replying, "Found out by myself."

She dumps out the pan of old grain that I helped her scavenge about an hour ago and covers it with a bit of dirt to keep the smell from drifting away and letting others know that we're here.

Suddenly Pixel stops dead in her tracks, and at that moment the sour-smelling wind blows. A nervous smell that rhymes with danger.

"Run," Pixel says, both in sign language and in speech. This must be important…

From my left, coming through a thick brush, comes a peculiar group of tributes and the mutts. The boy from 1 and the girl from 2 swing their weapons left and right, desperately attempting to slay the mutts that chase them. Unicorn mutts with pristine white hair and silvery horns.

It's only when they draw dangerously near that I realized I haven't moved an inch. When I try to move I can't. My feet are glued to the ground, and I'm helpless as the largest of the three unicorns smashes me in the chest with its hoof.

Pain like fire erupts through my body. It's broken one of my ribs. A sensation of both boiling hot and freezing cold fills my chest. Something's broken and my blood is now flooding into places it shouldn't.

A stinky glob of unicorn saliva lands on my face. A stench that rhymes with rage.

It's several moments before the large unicorn realizes its two comrades are gone, and, deciding it had better join them, leaves me.

I struggle to get to my feet but fall back down. My vision is growing darker… my hearing is growing fainter…

A much lighter, gentler wind rustles through the trees. A smell that rhymes with home.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

I have to clap my uninjured hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting as I peel back the bandage. My severed left pinky finger is now a hideous stump. Revolting chunks of dried blood tumble here and there whenever I wiggle the finger, and some kind of deep white mold looks to have taken root. There's no shortage of yellow pus either, blending together with my blood to make a kind of violent orange color reminiscent of poison.

Out of curiosity I blow on the wound, and agony worse than I've ever felt erupts through my hand. It takes several minutes to die down.

This is a serious infection.

I find that my agonized wriggling made me knock into the wall of my wooden shelter, causing one of the walls to collapse. I'll have to fix that later, but for now all I can do is lie here, praying that either my body will fight off the infection or my death will be swift. I'd definitely favor the former over the latter, but if it means the pain will be gone forever the latter might suffice.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Being an orphan there are a lot of things I'm good at. Judging temperature is not one of them. You'd think living on the streets for years with Ford would have taught me something about how to tell forty apart from fifty and fifty apart from sixty, but for some reason it's never caught on.

Even so, I can tell this is the warmest morning of these games. Memories of yesterday morning, with its cold sour-smelling wind, still chill me to the bone to even think of.

I roll out of my sleeping bag, hearing a small eeking sound.

Could it be...?

And it is. As clear as day, a small animal is caught in one of my wire snares. A small weasel. By the looks of things it'll be sufficient to keep me from starving for half a day.

Even though I'm not squeamish I always get uncomfortable when the time comes to kill the animal. The only things I have now are my napkin, wire, and bottle of antidote. I've already eaten the two bread rolls that came with the napkin. There's only one way to do this. Ignoring the screeching of the weasel mutt, I wrap the wire around its neck in several tight knots. Its scrambling slows to stillness and its screaming slows to silence and then its life is over.

I wrap my fresh kill in my napkin. That'll do at least something to keep it fresh.

I roll up my sleeping bag and suddenly feel very exposed, but not in the way you might think. I feel pretty safe in my little circular grove of trees. Something freaks me out about leaving my sleeping bag out in the open while I leave camp.

About half an hour of searching brings me to a tree with roots suspended over the ground like legs of a huge beast. I find my sleeping bag, antidote, and napkin fit comfortably underneath the roots, still leaving enough space for me to pack in some leaves to hide them from sight.

There's another thing orphan-hood has taught me. How to hide anything in a snap.

If I do say so myself I'm doing pretty well in these games. I hope Ford is watching me from back in 6 through a shop window or something. I'd rather him see that I'm doing well than not see me at all and worry about me.

But there's a time and a place for thoughts of home and this is not either. I try my best to shove memories from 6 out of my mind as I go about my business.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **13th: Erik Nordskov, District 7 Male – Bled out from wounds inflicted by kraken mutt**

 ***sobs* I loved this guy. I think a lot of you readers did also. My original poll found that he was the most popular candidate for the win. Most of the deaths in this story are written completely on the fly. Someone's name ends up in the same sentence as "sword" or "severed head" and boom, a cannon is firing and their name is knocked off of the list. But ever since the games started I knew one of the 7s would have to die early, because I wanted to explore how it would affect the other. Then the kraken thing happened and it had to be Erik… I'm so sorry dude. I hereby do use my secret writer powers to send well-wishes to his grieving family and fiancée D:**

 **12th: Mavvi Levist, District 10 Female – Ribcage blown in by unicorn mutt**

 **Another sad death right here. Given her disability I don't think anyone expected her to last very long, but the death is still a blow nonetheless. I've gotten a few messages about an excess of mutt deaths in these games. Don't worry—as the games progress virtually all of the kills will be tribute-caused. The mutt deaths are mostly reserved for the earlier deaths, as you'll know if you've ever taken a peek at 23 Cannons. From the little we saw of this girl we know she had a cynical view on life, having worked in the field for her whole life as a slave to people born richer than her in a cruel world she couldn't escape. Mavvi was a real bawse though—spunk to rival the gods really stands out. With her death less than half of the tributes remain.**

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Cerise, Luc, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **A/N: This was a quick update, wasn't it? I'm planning on significantly speeding up updates now. I really enjoyed this one. This was my first real exposure to writing "dreamy" scenes, notably Erik's Pov. Maybe I should try poetry if I like writing short sentences so much XD**

 **Question: If you were freezing cold, would you ever risk starting a fire?**


	38. Three Days Down (Day 3)

**District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

I glance gloomily at my empty bottle of water. I drank the last few drops this morning without a second thought. When I went to my stream to get more water it had dried up. The empty riverbed didn't hold a drop of water. The sight was creepy, eerie almost. As the number of tributes dwindles everything naturally gets more creepy, it would seem.

The other Orford is out gathering berries, leaving me alone at the camp. Our best bet is to move closer to water as soon as we can, but for now all I can do is wait around here killing time until he returns.

The first thing I do is tear down the sheet of grass covering the entrance of the cave. A simple weaving pattern I learned from a friend back in 10, but very effective. It was able to keep the inside of the cave toasty warm even on cold nights. Even so, I can't risk leaving it after we're gone.

Afterward I check through the cave a few times to make sure we aren't leaving anything behind. I find a few table scraps but nothing much. By the time I've lugged all of our supplies into a pile, the other Orford is returning.

"What've you got?" I ask, hands on my hips.

The other Orford frowns, holding out his empty hands. "The bush we always get from dried up. The berries were all shriveled and dead. I tried one and it was really gross, it tasted like mold."

I can't hide my disappointment. He told me himself he's here to be my servant, so no matter what I'm let down if my orders haven't been followed. I eventually decide to let him be and tell him to pack up his things so that we can leave.

"It's really weird how everything is just dying," I say as we start walking in an arbitrary direction.

"Yeah," replies the other Orford. "In most games they wait until just before the finale to kill everything."

This remark piques my interest.

"How do you know what the games are like if you don't even know why you exist? Do you watch them? Where? Who do you watch them with?"

The questions pour out of my mouth like water. I'm determined to find out what my clone is here for if I have to torture it out of him eventually.

He shrugs. "I've not got any family. I don't think so anyway."

"Then what are your memories from before you first saw me?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Dunno," the other Orford replies. "It's kind of like how, when you fall asleep, you don't know it until you've woken up. I feel like everything just started "being" a few days ago. No other way I can describe it, dude."

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

"Shut up! Don't make a sound!"

My legs burn like fire from the agony of having run for half a day straight. Every muscle in my body screams for me to just flop over and die, every fiber of my being tells me to surrender to the eternity of peace that is nonexistence.

"I think we've lost them," Declan whispers.

"Shut up!"

The unicorn mutts are damn swift and damn near impossible to injure, let alone kill. I've known from the start our only hope of survival is to get ahead of them and then hide somewhere where they can't see us.

I catch the flick of a unicorn's white tail from about twenty feet away. The largest and strongest of the mutts, the only one we couldn't kill. I killed the first of the three a few hours ago by rolling a boulder into it, crushing it in moments. Declan killed the second by chopping off its head.

"Crawl away… very… quietly," I mutter.

Declan obeys, slithering backward into the depths of the forest. I follow him ever-so-quietly. At one point my foot catches a root and I murmur a curse. The unicorn looks up, and for a second I think we're doomed, but in an instant the unicorn has looked back down.

I don't say anything until we've placed a good half mile between ourselves and the unicorn. Then I finally give the command to stand. Declan and I wipe the mud off of our backs and cough up all of the dirt that slipped into our lungs.

"We've lost it," I sigh, "but that was a really close call."

Declan nods in agreement, sliding down against a nearby tree as though exhausted. "But we're alive."

For once that stupid 1 boy is right. I do have quite a bit to be thankful for at the time being.

"Well let's go back to the cornucopia," I say. "Nero can help us there. I haven't seen his face in the sky yet. Come on, get moving. We haven't got all day."

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

The small tree bends significantly as I run into its trunk, nearly snapping it in half. This can't be happening. There's no way that stupid legend about the golden apple tree is true, and now I'm the first and likely only person to witness the wrath of those glowing white eyes.

The memories hurt like a punch to the gut. I managed to slip out of the creature's cold hand before it could pull me to the ground, but before I scampered off I took a look behind me and saw that hideous humanoid creature, easily ten feet tall, with no eyes and two gashes dug into its forehead issuing burning white light.

I knew at that moment that the damage done by simply seeing the creature was enough to kill me. The only reason I survived was because I managed to break eye contact quickly. I could actually feel a kind of unexplained spell drawing me closer and closer. Almost like some snakelike voice was whispering in my mind, saying "Come over here, Dory. This hard life, this hardly tolerable existence, could all be over in a snap. Just come over here and have a rest."

My only order of business now is to find my shelter. The only place I feel safe. My hands grasp my only possessions, my two knives, so hard that my knuckles turn white.

At first I didn't think the creature was following me. It was about an hour before I saw it again, an unmoving pair of glowing white eyes peering at me from under a mass of leaves.

I remember the terror being like a bucket of cold water. I ran faster than I ever have before. The last time I saw the eyes was about eight hours ago. Whatever that thing is must be a spectacular hider to stay out of my sight for such long periods of time.

Could it be watching me right now?

When I arrive at my shelter and peer into the entrance, my hairs stand on end. My heart skips a beat. My blood turns to ice. Because you can probably guess what I see hovering in the depths of the stick shelter, as cold as ice, staring at me with that irresistible beckoning, and this time I can't draw away. I've been pulled under its spell.

The thing hisses what I figure must be the monster equivalent of a victory screech as I grow nearer. The peaceful rest I was expecting does not come. Instead, a newfound energy courses through my veins. A thousand iron bands have wrapped themselves around my skin, and they're all tightening at an alarming rate. There's the otherwise unexplainable sensation of being forced through a tight rubber tube and then everything falls still.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

It's been two days since the last time I saw the rock, and two days since it's appeared in my nightmares. Out of sight out of mind isn't typically a worthwhile motto in the Hunger Games when anything could kill you at any moment, but then again the norm has not been very prominent as of late.

Ever since I found the compass built into my yo-yo I've found it a lot easier to travel. Before if I wanted to leave my camp for a sip of water I'd have to carefully mark my path with little sticks or something, and then I'd have to be careful to destroy all of my bread crumbs on my way back.

Now I can just pop open my compass, note which direction I'm going in, and walk in the opposite direction when I want to come home.

A beeping sound rings in my ears, and my heart stops. Could it be… ?

Sure enough, a silver sponsor parachute flutters gracefully toward the earth and collides soundlessly with the forest floor. Inside is a large white paper package that looks to be tightly wrapped around something.

I peel off the wrapping paper and spot what's inside, and my heart gives a leap. A loaf of District 11 bread. Long and curved, sprinkled with almonds, granola, and other various nuts. Even by looking at it I can taste the sweet flavor, the light, spongey texture.

I take a nibble and re-wrap the loaf before moving on.

Before long I come to the peach tree. I pick two of the fruits and gorge them down before venturing back toward camp.

My heart skips a beat as another chorus of beeps comes from behind me. Another sponsor gift so soon?

I rush to the fallen parachute and find only a tight silver package smaller than my hand sitting in the carriage, with a small red button in the middle. Before I can stop myself I've pressed the button, and before I know it I'm holding a sleeping bag.

Just as a test I lay the bag on the ground and fall inside. Despite the cool of the evening I find the inside pleasantly warm. I'd even bet it could get toasty in there on a warm night.

Before I can even leave the sleeping bag I hear yet another sponsor parachute, and in this one is a long, heavy-looking shape wrapped in brown paper. Refusing to believe my luck, I pull open the package. Inside is a gleaming silver-bladed axe with a glossy wooden handle. As I lift the axe out of the package, a note falls into my lap:

 _Jaro,_

 _Stay strong._

 _~L_

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

Fall will always be my favorite season. Summer is just the worst. Every attempt to go outside is like stepping into an oven and the long hours in the fields are hell. Winter is just as bad but just swap the "hot" words with "cold" words. Spring would be great but we have to work the longest hours and allergies don't help.

I love the crunch of leaves underfoot. I love the swirling colors as they fall to earth. I love the pleasant, balmy chill of an autumn wind.

If I had to guess when these games are "set" per se, I'd have to guess early September. That's when the weather is warm enough to keep you from freezing but chilly enough to keep you from sweating through all your layers.

As I walk through the forest, memories of my childhood in 9 flood back to me. All I've been able to think about since these games started is getting back there. Seeing my friends and family again. In order to accomplish that my goal is to fall into the background. That way the gamemakers will send fewer threats after me.

What I'll do when the tribute count dwindles to single digits I'm not sure. But I don't think I'll make myself a prominent character until super late in the games.

When day turns into night, I stop walking and settle down for bed. I'm a nomad in these games. Staying in one place for too long is too dangerous and it's healthier to move around anyway.

When midnight comes two faces shine in the sky. The boy from 7 and the girl from 10. After darkness, silence, and stillness return, it dawns on me how tired I am. I don't even need one of my sleeping pills to be out like a light in seconds.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Cerise, Luc, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **A/N: There's a reason Jaro got so many sponsor gifts in this chapter. I forgot to put a Jaro Pov on Day 2 so every gift people have sent him since the first chapter of the games was piled onto him in this chapter. It was the only way I could do it without changing the old chapters, which I try as hard as I can not to do.**

 **I hope this one was enjoyable! Posting updates faster is really increasing my motivation to *cough* kill off these characters, so expect the final eight to be determined within the next few chapters :D**

 **P.S. The prices for sponsor items in the shop have increased! They'll being going up every few days as I see fit so if you want to sponsor a tribute it might be a good idea to do it soon before everything is crazy expensive :D**

 **Question: When did you first read/watch the Hunger Games?**


	39. The Well (Day 4)

**WARNING: Let me write this here before I forget. If suicidal thoughts or actions are a trigger for you, please either skip Cerise's Pov or don't read this chapter. Now that's out of the way. Please enjoy the chapter :D**

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

By the time we reach the cornucopia my feet feel as though they've magically turned to lead. I can feel every heartbeat all throughout my body, though it's more of a burning sensation really. Though the walk can't have taken more than half an hour I can't remember half an hour ever being so long.

I hold my hand over my eyes like a visor as Declan and I step out of the forest.

This is the first time I've felt pure, unobstructed sunlight in… how long? Two days? Three days? I've almost forgotten what the pleasantly warm feeling of sunshine feels like.

But a 2 girl doesn't have time to be all sentimental. We're on the last leg of our journey and we can rest all we want once we reach the horn.

"Earth to Jaehaera, Earth to Jaehaera," Declan says, waving his arms to grab my attention.

I raise an eyebrow.

Declan points in response at a silver smudge on the horizon. Even from this distance the cornucopia seems to sparkle like polished glass.

We both stumble toward the silver smudge, our packs and the grime on our skins weighing us down.

"Nero," I call once we're close enough. "You home?"

A boy I've never seen before pokes his face out of the horn. His face looks sallow and gaunt, almost like he hasn't eaten in days. It actually takes me a moment to make the connection that it's Nero Ryker. How he looks so horrid I don't know.

"Need anything super important?" Nero asks. "Medicine, anything?"

I shake my head, sliding my pack off of my back. "Just a change of clothes and some food. That's an order, hurry up."

Nero races into the horn and soon he's nothing but a faint bit of movement in the darkness of the cornucopia's boxy interior.

I turn to Declan.

"Why does he look so bad?"

Declan shrugs. "I guess sitting around for four days with nothing to do isn't really his cup of tea."

In a few minutes a disheveled Nero returns with everything I requested. Declan and Nero trail away to go gather water and I'm left alone.

The next moment I hear a faint beeping sound. Ten feet to my right, the sunlight catches on a faint silver parachute fluttering gracefully toward the earth.

 _Jaehaera,_

 _Dip weapon in._

 _~R_

Underneath the note I find a bottle of bright-orange liquid with bursting bubbles and a crackling surface and all the other you-definitely-shouldn't-drink-this details.

I tuck the bottle of poison into my coat pocket, without a shadow of a doubt that it'll come in real handy in the future.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

I don't think anyone can blame me for how reclusive I've been acting lately.

The games have been going on for four days and I've already made two alliances, both of which have failed in the first 24 hours. Thinking about it now, Hopper knew he was going to die all along. The fay blankness he got in his eyes whenever I asked him about the games was a sign of acceptance.

But Mavvi wasn't like him at all. She was strong, resilient, determined to fight her treacherous way through the games.

Her screams still seem to ring in my ears to this moment. Things like that tend to stick with a girl.

Adding to my depression is the fact that I'm now defenseless. In my and Mavvi's mad dash to get away from the unicorn mutts, we didn't bother to note our path so I'd—but then it would have been we'd—be able to make our way back home.

All of my weapons are now lost, tucked into my butter-yellow pack at our far-away camp. All my food. All my supplies.

At least I'm not cold and alone in the middle of the… well, things could be worse.

Despite my bickering I have one thing on me. A bit of stretchy transparent wrap that fits snugly around my torso—body armor. It's almost like it was specially fit for me. Oh wait.

Around noon I end up settling in a clearing. I find that the further down I dig the damper the soil gets until I can cup my hand and scoop a good tablespoon of water out of the earth. Disgusting, muddy water, but water nonetheless.

For shelter I slither under the layer of forest leaves, too exhausted to gather branches at the time being.

Look at me. Procrastinating in the Hunger Games. It sure is your girl Pixel Watt.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

For the first time today I allow myself to peel back my bandages and take a peek at the stump of my severed finger. And for the first time in as long as I can remember I breathe a sigh of relief. It's coming along extraordinarily well. The pus isn't coming out nearly as quickly and the throbbing sensation that issues from the wound whenever I move is significantly less than yesterday.

It turns out the magic of the healing stream isn't instantaneous. Even soaking my bandages in the tinkling water nearly a hundred times a day, it looks like it'll take another couple of days for the blood and the pain to stop coming.

Ever since the agony lessened I've made a number of improvements to my shelter. I ended up scrapping the weak wall that kept collapsing and then shifting it up against a tree. The only downside is that I have to be careful about touching the trunk; it's covered with sticky sap.

I've just finished eating the small animal when a beeping sound comes from outside. I crawl out of the shelter assembled from branches and find that only a single slip of paper is held in the carriage of the hovercraft:

 _Adelaide,_

 _You're doing so well. Don't leave the stream. And get lots of sleep._

 _~F_

After reading over it a few times, I discard the note from my mentor Finch.

Now that I think about it, I'm super tired. A long, refreshing nap sounds heavenly, yes, that's what I've have right now, please…

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

When I was a little girl in 7 my Uncle Jon once sent me to fill one of our pails with water from the nearby well. That evening my Aunt Wren had dropped from exhaustion on the job and one of the peacekeepers had slammed her in the back with his whip. I can still remember the horrid red meat-like texture of the beaten skin on her back, and even looking at it I could feel it burning like fire.

I sprinted to the well to gather the water we needed to clean her bandages. Once I reached it I tied the rope firmly around the bucket and began lowering, slowly but surely. Soon I heard the bucket sink into the well's watery bottom.

As I lifted the pail back up using the crank, I noticed my feet beginning to slip.

I let out a scream of panic and tried to regain my footing, but at that point my efforts were in vain. I'd already gotten too far off-balance and the slippery mud-mottled snow was more than happy to put me even more off-kilter.

In an instant the force of the relaxing rope had tugged me into the well.

I couldn't tell how long the fall was, but in an instant the ice-cold water was pressing onto every square inch of my body, turning every cell of my body to sandpaper and crushing my bones. For a scary second I had no idea which way was up. It must have been at least half a minute before I broke the surface of the water.

Despite the darkness of the night I could see my breath fogging up in front of me. The well water was so cold it felt like fire—so cold I just wanted to sink down here and die.

The weird thing was it took me a moment or two to realize someone had come to my help. Gazing up, I saw the dark form of a human being leaning over the opening of the well, lowering some kind of rope.

Thinking about it now the fact that they heard my screaming is the only reason I survived.

I grabbed onto the rope and instantly let go. The icy cold was siphoning away my energy more and more each second and I just didn't have the strength to pull myself up.

But the prospect of not being completely helpless somehow kept me going. I was not going to die. Not there. Not that night. I held onto the rope with every ounce of strength I didn't have, refusing my muscles' pleads to let go as my mysterious savior pulled me higher and higher.

Seven years later I can still remember what it felt like submerged in near-freezing water. Lost. Confused. Hopeless. Like surviving didn't matter. Like nothing mattered.

Life in 7 has put me through a crazy number of crazy things since then. But I've never felt that lost feeling, that hopeless feeling, until now. With Erik gone my entire world feels like it's collapsing around me, leaving me helpless in the middle of a dark, cold world.

The only reason I made it through training is because he was there at my side. The only reason I made it through my interview without screaming and bursting into tears is because of the thumbs-up and the smile he gave me before it was my turn. And the only reason I've survived this long is because he was there to help me.

I'm useless. I'm hopeless. I'm that sad little girl everyone will see on television and feel bad for before turning the show off. Because whatever they say nobody really cares about me. Erik was probably only faking to garner attention from the sponsors.

No matter what happens I'm going to die cold and alone in these games the way I should have died seven years ago. Because I'm just a burden on everybody who's ever had the misfortune of knowing me.

I've picked up the hatchet at least ten times today and gotten so close to ending it all before pulling the blade back from my flesh. I don't know why. It's pretty cowardly to let the animal desire to survive keep me from leaving the world in a much more painless way than I could later.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I'm left staring at an empty paper wrapper after I swallow the last bite of the bread loaf. Every bite of it was delicious.

I crumple and discard the wrapper and then get to my feet, which is extraordinarily difficult given my current load. I take a quick check to make sure I'm not forgetting anything. Sleeping pills in my pocket. Check. Pocketknife in my other pocket. Check. Compass in my hand. Check. Axe and sleeping bag. Check and check.

By this point in the games I think I've fallen into my day-to-day routine. In the first few days I was much more adamant about having a fixed shelter, but now I'm starting to think a nomadic lifestyle is more for me.

This way I don't have to worry about losing my shelter. In fact, from now on my _purpose_ will be to lose it. Staying in one place for too long is never a good idea, though I don't know why it took me this long to acknowledge that.

After a few minutes a sweet, delectable scent floods around me and I find myself drawn toward a tree bearing pinkish-red fruits. The skin of the fruit is so thin I can actually see the seeds inside.

I don't hesitate before downing one of the fruits. I remember a whole screen at the edible plants station back in training about this one fruit. I think its name starts with G. I don't really remember.

Toward the middle of the day I settle in a bright-green meadow strewn with brightly-colored flowers. The mess of colors should make it hard for anyone to spot me at a glance. Thinking about it, that's the single best advantage I can have in these games.

I spend the rest of the day picking the stems and blossoms I recognize and heaping them together to make a kind of salad. A fulfilling dinner, though there's a slightly sour aftertaste.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Declan, Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Dory, Adelaide, Lincoln, Cerise, Luc, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **A/N: Another update! This one was slightly more uneventful in my opinion but I guess those chapters will happen sometimes. Also, I don't know if this was clear, but it's implied that the person who saved Cerise from the well was a young Erik. Hope your lives are all going swimmingly :D**

 **Question: Do you own any Hunger Games merchandise, and if so, what?**


	40. Cursed and Trapped (Day 4)

**District 1: Declan Benitoit (17) Pov-**

The rushing of the river grows louder and louder as we draw closer, and before I know it I can see the shining water, sparkling in the sun's last few rays of light.

"Got the containers?" I ask, kneeling beside the river, noticing something peculiar that I can't quite put my finger on.

Nero nods, pulling out the three thermoses it's been his turn to carry for the last few minutes. It's only when he begins walking toward me that I realize what's up.

The water level of the river looks to have dropped by at least a yard since we last came here. There's a whole wet, sandy patch of earth on either side of the river which must have once been submerged in water but has since been demoted to dry land.

Nero meets my eyes, looking grim. We're both thinking the same thing and I know it.

"The river's drying up," Nero murmurs timidly.

"You know what this means," I say, already walking in the direction of the cornucopia. "If that much water can disappear in a day I don't want to know how quickly the bed will be completely dry. We have to gather as much as we can before it's too late."

Look at me sounding super pompous. I might as well be wearing a beret and smoking some elaborately scented cigar.

We reach the cornucopia and hurriedly fill Jaehaera in. She helps us gather all of the thermoses in the cornucopia then loads them into our arms and gives us an extremely sarcastic gesture of farewell.

Nero and I race to the riverside. Once we've filled all of our containers with water I flop down on the sandy beach, exhausted beyond belief.

Nero shakily sits down beside me. I've been wondering for a long time why he's been looking so depressed. At first I thought it was hunger but the cornucopia hasn't been short of food thus far. It's not like he hasn't been exercising either.

It's somewhat tranquil here by the sparkling riverside, watching the sun set below the horizon…

"WHAT THE…"

Suddenly the sounds of pincers came from behind me. The snapping noises are being created by a procession of three ugly blue crab mutts scuttling toward me at an alarming rate. Nero rushes for his weapon, and I rush for mine. But before I can knock away the first of the mutts, it's clung onto my pant leg.

The next instant a feel a sharp pinching sensation in my butt that almost makes me fall over.

So I've been officially bitten in the ass by a crab.

 _Gee, Declan, what does it feel like?_

It hurts. A lot. Thanks for asking.

Over the course of the next ten minutes Nero and I struggle to take down the mutts. Despite being fast, they aren't very smart, and the task is rather easy in the end. I kill the first by cracking its head while Nero holds it down with a rock, and Nero kills the next two by smashing them with a couple of our filled thermoses.

I can tell the crab mutts weren't meant to cause serious harm, just to annoy us slightly. Gamemakers like to do that from what I've seen of past games.

When Nero and I return to the riverside my heart practically leaps into my throat.

"Nero, is it just me or…"

But Nero doesn't respond. Peering over at him I can the see the reflection of the white eyes in his. I'm no hallucination expert but I'm pretty sure that means I'm not imagining them.

And they're getting closer.

* * *

 **District 4: Dory Krillgood (13) Pov-**

Blood. That's what I need. I need it and I need it now. It's what I've needed ever since the past carrier of the Curse pulled me under its spell and drew me in. Now I'm the one with the glowing eyes that send shivers down the spines of my victims. I'm the one with the cold, dead white hands. I'm the one with curvy cat-like claws instead of fingernails and square ends on my feet where my toes were when I was a human.

And now I'm the monster and all I know is it's my only goal to tear apart and maul and maim. I've been stalking the two career boys for nearly an hour and now my thirst to kill is stronger than ever.

As I draw closer I can smell the 1 boy's blood… taste his entrails drizzling into my mouth… hear the screams he'll make as I tear out his heart… feel the way his guts will run between my fingers as I maul him apart piece by piece.

In only a few seconds I know I've drawn him in and there's no escape. Before I know it he's walking toward me and our hands touch.

Suddenly my body is alive with crackling electricity and I watch with immeasurable satisfaction as the 1 boy crumples like a deck chair, screaming in agony.

I fall to the earth, cackling madly, knowing I'll die as the Curse leaves my body.

The last things I see are the 1 boy's glowing white eyes before it's lights-out.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Night has fallen by the time I wake up from my nap. I unzip the sleeping bag and slither out, savoring the relief as the cool night air rushes around my body. The world is silent except for the sound of chirping crickets and the occasional rustling of fronds and leaves.

I fold up my sleeping bag and shove it into my pocket to make sure I don't lose it. Really, I don't think it could if I tried. Even in the dark night I could see it a mile away, shining like spun silver.

I take a quick check of my snares. All I find is a small garden snake, which I discard, unwilling to risk eating anything with bright coloring. Afterward, I walk down a steep slope into a narrow valley with a single tree. I find a multitude of bushes bearing common berries, which I wolf down greedily.

I've just finished licking the juice off of my fingers when the first splash of freezing-cold water sloshes around my feet.

The shock almost makes me drop my bag of supplies, but fortunately I keep it from falling by snagging the handle with my finger.

About twenty feet away, something extremely peculiar is happening. A nearby hill is gushing out water extremely quickly—almost like it's a water balloon and somebody has popped a hole in it. No doubt another cruel trick of the gamemakers.

Before I know it the water is up to my knees and rising quickly.

That's when real panic sets in. I can't swim. I haven't been fully submerged in water since I was a little boy.

Unable to stop myself, I grab onto the trunk of the one tree in the valley and drag myself into the lowest bough. It takes my fair share of effort to keep from throwing up as I watch the floodwaters rushing below me.

It's nearly an hour before the water stops coming, but it takes another hour to settle. By that point, the branch (with me on it) is suspended less than two feet above the glassy black surface of the water. Just glancing at the surface makes a black worm of dread crawl in my stomach.

I'm trapped.

Suddenly I hear a beeping sound, and a desperate hope forms in my mind that some sympathetic Capitolite is sending me a flotation device.

The silver parachute lands in my lap carrying three items: a wicked-looking knife the length of my forearm, a tin of bandages, and a pack of dried fruit. Frustration courses through me like hot lava and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying. None of this stuff will be any good if I can't get out of here alive.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

The first thing I realize as I try to assemble a shelter is just how difficult it really is.

In the training center there wasn't any wind. The ground was perfectly flat. And, naturally, I wasn't terrified for my life.

Last night was miserable. I can still remember the way the bitter cold crawled over my flesh and crept into my bones. Even if I want to be nomadic I'm not going to risk another cold night. I might literally freeze to death.

By the time the anthem plays, I'm about halfway through creating my shelter. Only the girl from 4 is in the sky this time.

Once I finish the structure I fall inside. The inside isn't terribly warm, but I figure over the course of the night my body will heat it up. As I fall onto the bed of leaves I can't help but wondering how many hours of tossing and turning it'll take to fall asleep this time.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

Sure, keeping on the move is important in the Hunger Games. But today I've just been too exhausted to move around. I've just been chatting mindlessly with the other Orford to while away the hours while we rested under the tall, slender willow tree.

Recently mysterious things have started happening. Back on Day 1 I felt a kind of "jump" where I was suddenly in the other Orford's body before being placed back in my own. The weird thing is that those jumps are starting to happen again—more and more frequently.

Around noon this morning I suddenly felt as though half of me were being split away and placed in my clone, and for a terrifying, mysterious second, I was in two bodies at once.

It's almost like lying two layers of colored plastic over one another and seeing a third color. I could see through two pairs of eyes at once, feel through four hands, smell with two noses.

And if I'm counting correctly that's happened five times today.

Something weird is going on and I'm going to find the root cause if it's the last thing I do.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **11th: Dory Krillgood, District 4 Female – Died as Curse left her body**

 **This girl was super cute, just a little bundle of joy. Even though she could be an airhead she was always able to lighten the mood. I definitely stressed her obsession with boys toward the start of the story, though I regret letting this fade into the background as the story progressed. She really deserved so much better, though that's true of most every tribute in the games. I loved her but sadly couldn't keep her alive forever. Enjoy the afterlife Dory :D**

* * *

 **Alliances: Nero, Jaehaera**

 **Loners (For Now): Declan, Pixel, Adelaide, Lincoln, Cerise, Luc, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **A/N: I'm sure there are some of you out there who are scratching your heads. So I'll give a full explanation of what's happening with Dory. So there's this golden apple tree with this creepy monster controlling it. The demon's only goal is to hypnotize and draw in a human victim, who it will turn into the monster. So the curse was transferred to Dory and then she carried it over to Declan. Hope this makes sense :D**

 **How'd you like the chapter? Sorry the Povs of Luc and Orford were super short this time. There wasn't much to write about them this time and I just wanted to finish the chapter before bed. See ya' next time.**

 **P.S. I have a new story! It's called "Here in an Instant, Gone in a Flash." It's basically a series of one-shots describing each of the 24 tributes in Katniss' games. It's my advent calendar—I'll be posting one chapter each day of December leading up to the big day. Shameless self-advertising is now over. I'll leave now.**

 **Question: Do you think the career tributes are actual villains or just victims of the Capitol used to make the games more interesting?**


	41. An Old Adversary (Day 4)

**District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

The ice-cold patch on the back of my neck grows more and more painful the faster I run. I can still remember every muscle in my body freezing up as I watched Declan transform into the demon. Before I knew it his hand was wrapped around my neck. But I managed to slip away.

Adrenaline powers me forward so fast the woods zoom past in a blur. Up until a few minutes ago I could hear the thing chasing after me. Even though I can't hear it anymore, something tells me for certain I haven't lost it.

The hairs stand up on my neck like the bristles of a nail brush as I hear a thump behind me. Like an idiot, I turn around, and crawling behind me are those two horrid glowing eyes. My blood turns to ice as I struggle to pull my own eyes away. It's almost like I can feel my soul siphoning itself out of my body.

It feels like an eternity before the cornucopia comes into view. Jaehaera sits on an unfolded deck chair in front of the cornucopia, sorting her weapons. I hope my terrified expression is enough to tell her I need her help.

"What is it?" Jaehaera demands gravely, getting to her feet.

"A crazy white demon thing… I watched it take Declan, I think it might…"

But I don't have to finish. Jaehaera is already running for the firewood. There's a kind of frantic terror in her eyes that tells me she knows exactly what's happening, more so than me. Almost like she's had to do this before.

I kneel down next to a pile of bandages.

"Over here, you idiot! We need to start a FIRE!" she shouts.

As I hastily pile up tinder and grab the matches, I kind of hope the 2 girl will fill me in on what's happening. She clearly knows. She also clearly knows that I don't.

"Maybe a little info here?" I ask. "You know what this is, don't you?"

Jaehaera makes what must be a nod. "The first time I saw it, I was sixteen … I was at the park with a few friends… and…" she scowls. "The thing is, it's not a ghost or a spirit. It's not a creature that possesses a human host. It doesn't take over you. It _is_ you. It's the embodiment of all of your deepest fears and insecurities, and that stuff… that stuff starts up the Curse if it's let loose."

A bloodcurdling, snakelike hiss makes me jump ten feet into the air. Because fifty yards to my right there hovers two glowing white eyes in the darkness.

"Run!" I scream. "We might be able to escape if we…"

But Jaehaera isn't running. She's grabbed her sword and she's walking toward the creature. Her walk reminds me of somebody reconciling with an old adversary.

"You won't win this time," Jaehaera snarls.

"Oh yes I will," the creature replies. "I'll take you just like I took her, all those years ago."

I figure the _her_ they're talking about must have been somebody Jaehaera was super close with. It's only at that point that I remember I'm supposed to be starting the fire. My shaking hands break the first match in half, but my second try is far more lucky. In a few seconds I've caught the pile of kindling on fire.

"Because you know I'm not going to lose," it continues. "You can't escape me. I'm inside you. I'll always be inside you, hidden down in your deepest animal mind where your terrors run free. I was there when you realized you could not save her."

Suddenly Jaehaera staggers to one side as if slapped in the face. It doesn't take an expert to realize she's passed her breaking point.

"TELL ME!" she screams so loudly the firewood seems to rattle. "I MUST KNOW! WHAT ARE YOU?"

The demon just laughs a horrid, mirthless, scraping laugh. "Forgetting so quickly? You already know everything, girl. You just can't bear the thought that fear will always be with you, always at your side. I've only come into a rudimentary body a few times this millennia, but I'm closer to my pure form than I've ever been, so close I can feel it."

Something tells me if this is Terror's rudimentary form, I don't want to see it in pure form.

Jaehaera roars and grabs the creature by both sides of its torso. With surprising ease, the 2 girl flings it to one side, causing it to land in the dead center of the bonfire. Ashes and chunks of firewood fly in all directions as the creature's body burns away, pieces floating off like confetti into the night sky before dissolving in the starlight.

In moments silence returns. The next moment, the faint whispering voice of the demon seems to spurt back out of the fire. It only lingers for a second or two before being carried away by the wind.

 _So nearly free._

I look at Jaehaera. Tears stream down her cheeks.

* * *

 **A/N: *shivers* I hope this one was enjoyable. I know it's awfully short but I figured this part was important enough to make its own chapter. Don't worry, everything will be explained later, like the identity of the** _ **she**_ **mentioned here as well as how the 2 girl's mysterious first encounter with the creepy demon thing went down. I won't be putting a question here but please keep the reviews coming, I love them :D**


	42. And then there were Eight (Day 5)

**District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

The sun has already reached its peak in the sky when I wake up, filtering through the branches and throwing slender slits of light over my body like beams from a disco ball.

Surprisingly it takes me a few moments to recall my predicament. That's right. I'm in just about the most miserable spot a girl can be in the games. I have nothing. Sleeping bag—gone. Food and water—gone.

Two days ago Mavvi and I had a warm place to sleep and flowers to eat and a partridge in a pear tree.

I've made two alliances that have both failed within a day, which is disheartening to say the least.

I lie on the forest floor for what must be at least an hour. The birdsong grows louder. When it reaches you-should-be-up-and-working-you-lazy-bum o'clock, I finally slither out from under the leaves and get to my feet.

The beeping of a sponsor parachute makes my heart stop.

I whip around at the speed of light and see that my gift has already settled on the leafy forest floor. The parachute's carriage holds a wide silver tray. Inside the tray is the most delicious and complete meal I've ever seen. A cup of carrots and peas. A serving of pineapple slices. A square of orange cheese. A porcelain bowl of steaming-hot soup with creamy broth.

 _Pixel,_

 _Make it count._

 _~C_

Just looking at it makes my mouth water. I allow myself about half of the vegetable cup before setting the tray down. I really don't want to eat it all right now.

Something tells me I should thank my sponsor, but I think I'd feel weird thanking the thin air, so I decide against opening my mouth.

I don't have a doubt in my mind that I should be walking, and I don't have a doubt either about what I should be walking toward. The tall, fog-laden purple mountains draw me toward themselves as if by some hidden magic. They're the things that have been intriguing me since Day 1. I'm not going to die before I can investigate them at least a little bit.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

Loud alarm clocks have never been my thing. A faint buzz to introduce me to the new day? No problem. But an enormous alarm clock with a chime loud enough to wake the dead? Thanks but no thanks.

When I wake up there's a freezing cold sensation in my feet. For an instant my brain invents the delusional fantasy that some creature has wrapped its cold hands around my feet.

But my feet have just sunk into the healing river. Surprisingly the water seems to wake me right up, filling my bones with a kind of warmth that makes me want to spring to my feet.

A peek at my injury tells me it's coming along well. No more fresh blood-flow, which is an amazing sign. I clean off the chunks of dried blood and then dip my bandages into the tinkling magical water once more.

 _Clank!_

Something heavy lands on my head, thudding against my skull. I reach upward and find the carriage of a sponsor parachute balanced precariously on my head. Too excited to feel embarrassed, I let it fall to the ground. The parachute only holds a single note:

 _Adelaide,_

 _If you want to stay alive you've got to move around. Starting tomorrow it won't be safe to play a defensive game anymore._

 _~F_

The note doesn't worry me. I'm pretty sure I'll be healed completely by tomorrow morning if not tonight, and then I can be on my merry way.

I hunker back down into my branch shelter, alone except for my blowgun and pack of darts, listening to the queer tinkling of the river and willing my body to heal itself.

* * *

 **District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-**

The first thing I notice as I leave my shelter is the warmth. There's no way this isn't the warmest morning of the games so far. There is the occasional cool gust of wind, but other than that the sun shines down rather relentlessly, melting the frost around me and bringing the birds out of their hiding spots for the new day.

Taking only my two hunting knives with me, I travel east for about five minutes before reaching a small brook. It's not very large, and I can't guarantee that it's clean, but I don't want to risk travelling any further. I don't want to pose any risk of losing my shelter.

I kneel beside the brook and sip greedily from the water, pretty much sacrificing all manners in favor of gulping down as much water as possible.

I've just begun to get to my feet when red-hot pain explodes through my back.

I make an effort to stand but fall back down, my body making a loud thud against the mossy riverside. Towering over me is the enormous duo from 2. Both of their weapons are aimed toward me.

I glance behind me for some kind of escape, like a fallen branch over the brook. There isn't one.

The 2 boy falls on top of me and pins my wrists and ankles to the ground. Even though my brain commands that my limbs thrash in a futile effort to escape, I know in my heart of hearts that I'm not going to live past this encounter.

I try to force out my last goodbyes but my lips don't seem to be able to move. The 2 girl thrusts her sword into my torso and then it's all black.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

The cannon shot wakes me up with a start. It takes my brain a couple of seconds to count up the number we've had so far, and then my heart leaps into my throat.

That cannon shot was the sixteenth of these games. That means there are only eight of us left.

For us final eight tributes, they'll be rushing to the homes of our families to squeeze some kind of decent interview out of them. They're always the same every year. I miss her. All I do is think about him. I wish my nephew would come home. I guess when someone you love is at such high stakes there's only so much you can say. Though I've never much been a person to believe in all that destiny stuff the rest is pretty much left to fate.

I've got a lot to be grateful for right now. With home closer than ever a fleeting memory comes back to me. Every night before bed my mother told me to count my blessings. I can't have left home more than a few weeks ago but it feels like a million years.

My sister being reaped into these games wasn't much of a blessing. But I've survived this long. I've got a decent stock of supplies and a good number of sponsors on my side. I'm not an orphan like the dude from District 6. I'm not so tiny I could be crushed like a soda can like the girl from 3.

 _Hey, higher power or whatever, if you're out there, thanks for everything._

I don't get a response but the prayer boosts my spirits a little.

Oh yeah. And I haven't seen that weird moving boulder in three days. Plus one to the blessing counter.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter (and last chapter because I forgot):**

 **10th: Declan Benitoit, District 1 Male – Burned to death, by Jaehaera, to eliminate the Curse**

This dude was a pretty dynamic character and I had good fun writing him. In the first few days I felt he was being overshadowed by Jaehaera and Nero, and before that by Sangria (remember her?) but lately I've tried to give his character a bit of depth. He was cool. Funny. Nice, even. Really makes you question the norms of the career districts, where even for the best kinds of people being able to kill without a second thought is the norm. Whether you see them as victims or villains career characters are always good fun to write. Happy trails bud.

 **9th: Luc Everett, District 9 Male – Skewered through torso, by Jaehaera**

This guy was a good candidate for the win. If you've read 23 Cannons or pretty much any other Hunger Games fic you probably know good-looking ladies' men from the outlying districts is a sort of cliché, but I still hope I wrote this guy well for you all. He got dealt a bad set of cards by being reaped, then by sort of fading into the background and finally by being in the same region of the arena as the careers.

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Jaehaera, Nero**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Adelaide, Lincoln, Cerise, Orford, Jaro**

 **A/N: And another tribute falls! Sorry if there was confusion last chapter about Declan. Rest assured that he is completely, 100% dead and that creepy curse thing is out of the question for the rest of the story. Hope your lives are all going swell :D**

* * *

 **Question: Do you have any skills/talents/quirks that would help you in the games? If so, what?**

* * *

 **THE FINAL EIGHT:**

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17)**

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18)**

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12)**

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16)**

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16)**

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15)**

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18)**

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15)**


	43. Painful Memories (Day 5)

**District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Pov-**

I'd like to say I know what being in Jaehaera's position is like but I really can't say that I do. That wicked demon thing has obviously torn open some kind of painful memory in her and she's pretty much refused to talk to me for almost a day.

Another thing I must say is that the killing does get easier. At the start of these games I remember being so apprehensive about taking the other tributes' lives but now I realize it's not immoral at all. Every tribute's goal is to survive and for me to win this thing the others will have to kick the bucket anyway.

"Can we settle for lunch yet?" I say. "It's noon."

Jaehaera needs, squinting upward at the sun. She gestures toward a sunlit field of fuzzy green grass dotted with bright pink flowers. As we walk toward it, I swing my pack off of my back and take out my lunch. Not much today. Just a sandwich and some cheese. Food supplies really have been running low.

We spend a few minutes eating in silence and I finally build up the nerve to ask her.

"So are you gonna tell me what all that was yesterday?"

Part of me was expecting her to burst out with rage, but she just nods sadly.

"I don't know how much you heard, but…"

"I heard it all."

"Well, I met this girl in kindergarten named Blanche," Jaehaera starts. "She was just super sweet and we were friends just like that."

"And we were friends all the way through high school. Then me, her, and this guy named Blair were at the park to practice with our weapons. We're technically not allowed to use them outside of the academy but Blair's dad was rich so the peacekeepers kind of just looked away."

I nod, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"And then Blanche's phone started ringing. She put the phone to her ear and… and…"

Jaehaera swallows hard.

"She told me there'd been a mining accident and both her parents had died. Just like that. There wouldn't be anything even to bury."

"And then I saw it for the first time… that horrid… ugly… thing in the bushes. I guess there was just so much negativity in the scene that it found the perfect place to latch on and Blanche was drawn right in and… and…"

I can paint a pretty good picture in my head about what happened next.

"Blanche turned into the creature, and I couldn't let it hurt Blair, and I had a knife with me, and the people next to us were having a fire."

She shakes her head.

"I loved her, Blanche. She was a really, really good friend. And I killed her. Her blood will be on my hands forever."

There's a long moment of silence. The awkwardness is so thick I could cut it with a knife. I have no idea what to say. So I decide not to say anything.

"What happened to Blair?" I ask after what must be at least five minutes.

"Oh, he's still my friend," Jaehaera says. "But with Blanche gone from the trio we never were really the same."

I don't ask any more questions. Even the bloodthirsty psychopath I thought my district partner was is a human too. I don't want to put her through any more pain.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

A tear streams down my cheek as I lie back on the branch. Night is already falling. The stars here are more brilliant than I've ever seen them in 6. Like someone scattered salt on a shiny black surface. The milky way is a glorious band from horizon to horizon.

The one piece of good news is that the water level around my treetop prison is lowering—but very slowly. The level looks to be about half a foot lower than it was yesterday.

Earlier today I tried putting my feet in the water but pulled them back out a millionth of a second later. The water is too deep. Too dark. Too cold.

I cry myself to sleep, and maybe I dream about the stars, I don't know.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

The inside of the cave is pitch-black. I only found it about an hour ago. I guess the Capitol didn't like how still I was being and they sent two amber monkey mutts after me. I pushed aside a curtain of vines and found the little hidden cave. Inside it's dark and cool and rather comfortable, though the floor is a little hard.

I've been trying to fall asleep to the sound of dripping water for almost an hour. I've also been trying to shove Erik out of my mind as much as I can. Will I ever see him again or is that just a fairy tale?

I'm far enough away from the lake that I'm pretty sure the kraken mutt won't be able to reach me, to close me in its tentacles, crush me to death the way it crushed Erik…

Ugh. Those thoughts aren't helping.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

My hands are bruised, blistered, and covered in callouses. I run the rope through my hands until the very end falls soundlessly to the forest floor. I've reinforced every inch of the rope to ensure the other Orford won't be able to break it, intertwined so many vines it's hard to count them.

Tonight I'm going to bind him and tie him down and get him to tell me everything. I'll make him tell me everything.

When I first arrive at the camp I can't find him at first. Then I hear his soft snores drifting toward me from my left. The other Orford sleeps peacefully behind a tall, thin birch tree.

I leap on top of him and he wakes up screaming.

"Don't scream," I mutter, gritting my teeth. "Try to run and I'll kill you."

That shuts him up. I hit his head with a rock to disorient him for the second it takes me to grab the rope.

I start to tie him up and then the strangest thing happens. The rope passes right through his body. I make a loop around his arm, and when I tighten the knot the vines simply sink into his skin.

"Tell me!" I scream out into the night. "What are you? Who are you? WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

I look down and let out a scream. This time it's from terror rather than fury. Because he's gone. He disappeared into thin air. Straight out from under me.

I've had enough. I make a run for it.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you all had fun reading this one! The interviews with the families of the final eight will be next chapter. They should be a break from the norm. Have a nice day :D**

* * *

 **Alliances:**

 **Careers: Jaehaera, Nero**

 **Loners (For Now): Pixel, Adelaide, Lincoln, Cerise, Orford, Jaro**

* * *

 **Question (in the spirit of that creepy fear monster thing): What would you say is your biggest fear? It can be something silly like spiders or something more serious, whatever you want ;D**


	44. Final Eight Interviews

**District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Family Interview**

"Has it been hard ever since Jaehaera left?" I ask, handing the microphone to the father.

He nods. "I never really appreciated her laugh. Now that she's gone I'd give anything to hear it just one more time."

The mother takes the microphone next. "But I'm so proud of her for making it this far. And I know she can make it home if she really tries. She's a super smart kid."

The next person to take the microphone is a girl with a similar form to Jaehaera but with eyes as cold as eyes. Wrought with jealousy. Her response is practically through her gritted teeth.

"Yes. The most wonderful half-sister I could have asked for. Hope she can come back. Can hardly wait."

After she finishes she throws the microphone back into my hands like a hot potato.

"Well, there you have it folks," I tell the cameras. "Stay tuned for the other interviews after the commercial break."

* * *

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18) Family Interview**

"So what's your earliest memory of him?" I ask Nero's brother.

"Well I was born a few years after him, so I don't really remember," he responds. "But he always told me that while my mom was having me in the next room he was eating chips and watching a Christmas movie."

The mother takes the microphone. "Yep. I was expecting Nero on the first of January but he came out on the fifteenth of December. He just couldn't stand to stay inside me any longer, apparently."

"And when I saw him for the first time…" the mother continues, tearing up a little. "I just couldn't think of anything but how pretty his eyes were."

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Family Interview**

"As the only twelve-year-old in the final eight, how much of a fighting chance do you think your granddaughter has?"

"I'd say quite a good one," the grandfather answers. "She's a really smart kid. Started reading Dickens when she was eleven. And she's definitely a trickster. I always had to expect the unexpected whenever she was around."

"Are there any particular lessons you learned from her over the years?" I ask.

"Pixel taught me to always look on the bright side of things. To never grow old, whether or not you may be eight-nine years young like myself."

This constitutes a chorus of laughter from the small crowd assembled to watch the interview.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (15) Family Interview**

"All we want is for our little bumblebee to come home," both of the fathers say in unison. An avox hands them each a box of tissues.

"But we have to stay strong and try not to think about it. It's what Adelaide would want," one of them says.

"Did you always think your girl would make it to the final eight?" I ask. I hand the microphone to the shorter dad, the one with reddish hair.

"Yep," he says. "We knew she had it in her. And we all know she has it in her to win. Because to win you don't have to have the fastest feet or the strongest body, you just have to have the smartest mind, and she has such a smart mind."

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) "Family" Interview**

Lincoln is the only one of the final eight without any family, so we went up to a random guy on the street to be interviewed. He's going to pretend to be Lincoln's cousin Charlie. They look similar enough I don't think anyone will know they aren't really related.

"What do you think of Lincoln's situation?" I ask. "You know, trapped on the branch above the water he can't swim across?"

"I'm really worried about him," 'Charlie' responds. "He's… um… I remember at a family reunion one time I tried teaching him how to swim. I think he knows the basics. But that water is really deep. I don't know if he'll be able to reach dry land."

"When was this family reunion?" I continue.

"Eight years ago. Oh, yeah, um… well, our mom got married to a second guy without telling the first one and he was super mad when he found out. Then he shoved us all in the car and told us to leave, and we drove to the other husband's house. Then we, um…"

Pause.

"Invited the whole family over to celebrate, um… Halloween."

Another pause.

"Thanks for your time," I say, wondering how the heck we're going to edit the footage to pull out the tiniest bit of sense.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Family Interview**

"What's the last thing you said to Cerise during the goodbyes?"

The aunt tries to respond, but the words all clog up in her throat and she can't talk. The uncle takes the microphone from her and coughs loudly once to clear his throat.

"We didn't say anything. I guess there weren't words to describe the situation. I suppose some of the most intimate things are said without words."

"And how's it been around the house, caring for the younger kids without Cerise' help?"

"Brings back lots of memories. From before my sister- and brother-in-law died and Cerise came to live with us," the father answers. "Way more chaotic. The two of us have never been as kind to our stepdaughter as we could have been, but I think I speak for the both of us when I say I can't wait until she comes home."

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Family Interview**

"This is the interview we've all been waiting for," I exclaim. "What on earth do you think your son has been up to? We often see kids five and under making up imaginary friends to help them get through hard times, but Orford is almost a grown man and he's been talking to the air for a week. What do you think is going on?"

"I think the pressure has gotten the best of him," the mother explains. "He's always had a vivid imagination, and I think that's helping."

The father interrupts. "And from what we've gathered… we think he's imagined he's talking to a clone of himself. He sets up two beds every night, gathers food for two people every day, and talks to nothingness almost every waking moment of every day."

"But his imaginary ally is just that—imaginary," the mother continues. "A fantasy. A figment of his imagination. And we hope he realizes that, because the sooner he snaps out of this phase the sooner he can focus on what really matters in the games."

"Getting back home," I say.

She nods.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Family Interview**

Our entire team shuffles quietly through the hallways of the hospital. Our goal is to get a solid interview with Jaro's little sister, the one whose medicine was so expensive her brother volunteered knowing victory was the only hope of getting her treatment.

Naturally she's now the most famous girl in 11 so the line for visitors is a good three hours long. When the wait is finally over, we step silently into the room.

The girl lies on a long mattress on the floor. She's covered by a single blanket. A needle sits in her arm. Her hair is streaked with ugly greyish colors, and her face is sickly yellow, drawn-out like her features have been melted away in some kind of fire.

"Good evening, miss," I say softly, kneeling at her side. "What's your name?"

"Cora," she responds. "Is Jaro doing well?"

"Very well," I answer. "He made it to the final eight. We're here to interview you. How do you feel, knowing your brother loves you enough to risk his life for you?"

"You know, before I didn't believe in angels," Cora says. "The whole concept that life had a meaning didn't make much sense to me. But since Jaro volunteered I've known without a shadow of a doubt that heaven is real. There's a piece of it in all the kind things people do for one another. I can't see miracles physically but I felt one when Jaro stepped forward, because the most real things in life are the ones that nobody can see."

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed these! I know they're all very short but I couldn't figure out how to make them longer without making them very repetitive as well.**

 **And how do you all feel about Orford now that you've read his interview? I hope everything makes sense now.**

 **I won't put a question on this chapter, but I will tell you that sponsoring will stop once we reach the final five. So if you want to sponsor a tribute get on that asap.**


	45. And Next (Day 6)

**District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

When I wake up in the morning, I never think, _Wow, I can't wait to get out of bed and start the new day!_

I'm always thinking, _uuuuuuuuuugh._

Nero wakes me up at sunrise. I open my eyes slowly and see the cornucopia's supplies illuminated slightly in the first rays of the sun.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Nero jokes. "Or I might have to eat your breakfast for you."

I slither out of my sleeping bag and start to the nearest river for a wash. On my way back, a slight beeping noise catches my ear, and I look to the right. There's no doubt about it… a sponsor parachute.

I reach the parachute a few seconds after it makes soft contact with the leaf-strewn earth. The carriage of the parachute holds a large package wrapped in shiny silver material. At first I'm tempted to open it straight away, but I feel too exposed out in the open. I decide to sneak it back to the horn and open it while Nero isn't looking. Because if it's something valuable I don't want him to realize I've got it.

By the time I get back breakfast is almost finished. Nero sits on a rickety wooden stool, slowly stirring a steaming pot of tomato soup. He ladles a bowl for me and one for himself. Then he starts away to change clothes and I'm left alone at the horn.

I produce the bulky package and tear it open. Into my lap falls… a cardboard box. Wow. I've always wanted one of those. I pry open the box and find… another box. Cool. No less than five boxes are packaged this way, like the skins of an onion.

I open the last box and a field of stretchy material falls into my lap. Body armor. From what I've seen of past games body armor is often one of the most expensive sponsor gifts. And seeing as it's this late in the games, this one piece of armor must cost a small fortune. Someone, somewhere, must really like me.

I stuff my sponsor gift into my bag. What time is it? Nero should be back soon.

I glance at the glowing orange vial of poison I was sponsored a few days ago. I've been planning to poison Nero for days now, but I just don't think it's the right time yet. I know he'll never have the guts to kill me off so it's no threat to me to hold off for just a few more days. I think I'll kill him off at the final six or seven. Yeah, that's probably what I'll do.

Two seconds later Nero gets back and we eat breakfast on the ground together.

"So… are we just gonna sit here all day or are we gonna go hunting?" Nero asks.

"Stay here," I say, so quickly I take myself by surprise. Because I know that the further we progress the more likely Nero will get to abandoning ship. And I'm not going to leave him alone. I'm going to keep him in my sight for as long as it's worth it to keep him alive. Which, at this point, isn't for long.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Today is the day. Day three. Doomsday. In District 6 it's a common saying that three days of inactivity in the games means death for any tribute. And today is my third day stuck on the branch. This morning I'm going to face my fears and swim to shore.

Before I leave, though, I want to get my supplies to safety. I pack everything I own into my single bag and stuff it the rest of the way full with branches and leaves, to provide a small amount of cushioning. Then I hurl the bag with all my might toward the nearest shore. It lands safely on dry land. Now my goal is to reach it.

I turn, so that instead of lying on the branch I'm sitting on it with my feet dangling above the water.

This is the most terrifying moment of my life. Not a single doubt about it. Every cell in my body screams for me to pull myself back up onto the safety of the branch, to just sit here and cry and die and crumble to dust. Every part of me except my willpower, at least.

Before I know it I've thrown myself off, into the water.

As soon as my head goes under, a wave of something freezing-cold courses through my body. Terror. My muscles tighten and for ten seconds I can't move. My breath is already starting to dwindle. My lungs are already burning.

Then my feet touch the solid bottom of the lake and I'm forced back to my senses. I throw out my arms to search for something to grab onto. My left hand grasps onto a root and I use it to drag myself along about two yards. Then I grab onto a rock. Then another root.

I'm moving up and up. The surface is getting closer and closer. For a moment nothing can stop me. But, just as quickly, hope starts to fade. An iron clamp is sealing itself around my torso, slowly tightening. My lungs scream for air. The cold of the water presses into every inch of my flesh and crushes my bones.

Then a wash of cool morning air hits me and my lungs find that they can breathe again. I'm staring up at the fading stars.

Now that I'm in wading depth I can slowly drag myself to shore without putting my head under. Finally, I collapse onto dry soil, shivering and moaning and coughing up water. However damaged I may be, I'm alive.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

I get moving as soon as the sun rises. I've already been resting at the riverside for far too long, and while I don't feel exactly comfortable leaving the healing river behind I know it has to be done.

I turn to the sun to tell me which direction is west, and that's the way I move. I don't know why. In movies and books whenever characters leave at sunrise they travel west.

Around noon I settle down in a grassy clearing laden with flowers. I recognize a few of the flowers as edible, and I spend a few minutes munching on the blossoms. It's not much, but it's surprisingly fulfilling.

As the sun starts to fall, I find the forest growing thicker and thicker, until finally the trees are so close together I can hardly fit between them even when I turn onto my side. In the middle of the grove of tightly-knit trunks is a deep, black hole in the ground.

My first instinct is to run, but something about the hole tells me it's nothing to worry about. The shape is such a perfect circle I can't imagine it was dug by an animal. I throw a few rocks inside to make sure nobody's home. Nobody is. So I crawl inside.

The tunnel is about ten feet long and then it opens up into a dark room with the floor space of a single train compartment. Even with sunlight streaming in through the entry hole, I have trouble seeing to the corners of the space.

I pull out my single flashlight, and the sensation is so alien I almost scream. I haven't touched my flashlight ever since I had five fingers. It feels so different, so unnatural to grab the flashlight with only four fingers instead of five. I shine the beam of the light around the space and confirm there's nothing here except musty underground air.

Smiling slightly, I let down my supplies. I can imagine I'll be spending quite a while in here. I'll have lots of time to practice with my poison darts—now that I only have nine fingers I'll probably have to re-learn quite a few old skills.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

It surprises me way more than it should that the air is a lot colder here by the mountains. I guess there's just more wind and a lot of stuff for it to "whip" around. The howling of the wind is probably what's making me think it's so cold. If I really think about it I guess the temperature hasn't changed, it's just my imagination.

It's incredible to imagine that I've made it to the final eight. Not like I was expecting not to get this far. I mean, look at me. Sponsors please form an orderly queue.

I'm joking. But I'm seriously wondering what my grandpa said in his interview. I'm assuming he's the one they interviewed, as apart from some rando Cousin Beth who lives a hundred miles away he's the only family I have.

There are only two kinds of interviews. There are ones filled with tears and begs for the tribute to come home and there are the calm, composed ones where everyone knows the tribute would want them to stay strong. There is no in-between. Knowing my grandpa I don't think he's the emotional type. I can even imagine he cracked a few jokes.

After a few hours of searching the base of the mountain range I find a wide, dark crevice leading straight down into the ground. You might as well put up a sign that says, _something evil lives here._

There's no way I'm going down there. Uh-uh. Thanks but no thanks.

Suddenly I hear a beeping sound and I gaze to my right—a sponsor parachute. I rush to the parachute and find a tight black package with a single note:

 _Pixel,_

 _D2F has poison._

 _~C_

I open the package and find a small crossbow fashioned from glossy, dark wood along with five arrows.

Ugh. Jaehaera has poison. That can't be good. But at least I have a weapon now. I'll have to find the time to practice later.

When night falls I have no choice but to settle down on the flattest ground I can find, only a few feet up the side of the mountain. Here I'll have at least some high ground. Despite the cold of the night I fall asleep remarkably quickly. I'm thankful, that's for sure—I'll need to catch up on my sleep to prepare for the hell on earth that the next few days are sure to be.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

As a kid when I was nervous my mother always told me to count my blessings.

But my legs are tired. With immense effort I straighten them out, letting my feet press against the wall of the cave.

It's kind of disheartening that it takes me a while to think of anything. There's a lot of anti-blessings weighing on me now. I'm in the Hunger Games. I could die at any second. Stuff like that.

But then again, I'm well-stocked. I have quite a few sponsors on my side. I'm in comfort. I've been resting all day, and I think I've been active enough recently that a day of inactivity will be tolerated by the Capitol. I've got all my supplies with me: sleeping bills, pocketknife, compass, and axe. And I have a sleeping bag.

That's quite a few blessings. I'm grateful to be in the spot that I'm in.

Sometimes shadows will dance on the walls of the cave and I'll jump down into my sleeping bag. This really irks me because it shows that, however grand I may pretend to be to increase my chance of surviving the games, I'm just an animal whose sole goal is to survive. At least, that's who I am now that I'm in the games.

When I was five my grandpa took me onto his boat and we sailed a few feet out onto the water. I remember sitting at the table munching on bread. Then there was an earsplitting screech and suddenly water was building up around my feet. My grandpa rushed in and said we hit a sharp rock. We were sinking.

Even though that was ten years ago I remember the sheet terror that rolled through my body in one freezing-cold wave. That wash of terror is what's designed to keep us all alive.

I guess I'm just frustrated because I don't know which of my feelings are genuine, spiritual, part of my soul; and I don't know which are just meaningless chemical reactions programmed into my brain to help me survive.

But that's a long enough existential crisis. I'd say it's time for bed.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

The moon is bright tonight.

I've been running for hours. The image of the other Orford is imprinted into my memory. I see his eyes whenever I close mine, like the insides of my eyelids have been painted with his image.

Was he a ghost? A demon? And why was he troubling me? As a punishment? If so, what have I done? Is this a warning from a higher power? Is my death near?

The moon is bright tonight.

Suddenly it hits me. It hits me like somebody smacked me in the face. I fall to the ground, mind spinning through space, clutching my stomach. Every cell in my brain aches with denial and I let out a groan. This isn't real… it can't be real…

The other Orford isn't real. He was never real. I made him up. He was a figment of my imagination.

Now that I think about it he never ate anything. Why would he? Whenever I was conversing with him I must have shuffled over to take his spot when I responded… that's why I felt like I was jumping between two bodies… those jumps were small bursts of sanity my brain found.

The moon is bright tonight.

A grin crosses my face and a cackle tumbles from my lips. I grab my knives and scamper away into the night.

The moon is bright tonight. Its light reflects off of my blade like a mirror.

I need to get out of this arena. As soon as possible. And there's only one way that's going to happen.

* * *

 **District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-**

Back home they say that three days of inactivity in the games are enough to get you killed. But I don't really care. I don't care about anything anymore. I just hope death with claim me soon. Then I won't have to watch death come for any more other people before it comes for me.

I hear water trickling into the cave, and before long I feel it pooling up all around me. Right away I figure the gamemakers are overflowing the nearby river to either drown me or get me to move. But they can't make me do anything.

A sigh tumbles from my lips as the water grows higher and higher, and it's with acceptance that I let it surround me, cover me, plunge me into a blackness I know I'll never leave.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **8th: Cerise Yew, District 7 Female – Drowned**

 **This girl led possibly the biggest turn of any tribute in these games. When she was first introduced at the reapings it was popular opinion that either she or Erik would win, but after Erik died and she plunged into a state of severe depression I knew I couldn't keep her around any longer. Like many of you I liked her as a person and a tribute but I guess not all things can be destined to be. Who knows, maybe she and Erik are together somewhere else now :D**

* * *

 **Remaining Tributes:**

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17)**

 **District 2: Nero Ryker (18)**

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12)**

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16)**

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16)**

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18)**

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15)**

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter was really good fun to write. Now that tensions are rising I'm finding it pretty fun to explore how each tribute is reacting, preparing, etc. Like I've said in a few other places I'd like to wrap up this story soon. At this rate I think I can finish the games in as little as four or five more chapters.**

 **Remember that sponsoring stops at the final five, so if you want to sponsor a tribute time is running low :D**

 **Question: Do you think information from the movies should be considered canon, or only information that comes from the books?**


	46. Children of the Night (Day 7)

**District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

Nero wakes me up at the crack of dawn. Just like yesterday. He doesn't know today will be his last day on the planet. I know it's not the nicest thing in the world, but I think there's something so satisfying about looking at him, knowing he thinks it's just another day, while I know it's anything but ordinary for him.

Nero prepares breakfast while I start away for a wash, again just like yesterday. The bottle of poison feels warm in my pants pocket. I trust about half the vial will be enough to kill him. Then I'll have some left over to use if I encounter another tribute.

I head home after a few minutes and see that Nero's left a note on the table, saying. _Tired of waiting. Left to use the bathroom. Back soon._

I don't loiter. With an immense amount of force I crack the plastic seal and open the jar of orange poison. The liquid lets out a triumphant hiss, as if sensing it's about to be freed. Quickly, I pour about half of the poison into Nero's tomato soup, then conceal the vial back in my pocket.

My ally arrives less than a minute later, and I refuse to take my eyes off of the soup bowls. If I forget to be careful and he swaps the bowls without my noticing, I could be as dead as a door-nail in no time. But he doesn't swap the bowls.

We sit down together and I set the example by taking the first bite. As Nero moves the spoon closer and closer to his mouth, fleeting doubts race through my mind. What if the soup tastes funny? What if he spits it out? Will he throw the bowl at me? My body armor would probably shield me from the poison but I don't want to take any chances.

Suddenly Nero falls out of his chair. I get out of my seat and walk around the table to see the 2 boy sprawled out on the ground, limbs stiff as boards splaying in all directions, gasping and shaking and moaning.

A cannon shot rolls over the forest and Nero Ryker moves no more.

As soon as his eyes roll back into his head I hear a loud beeping sound from my left. Another sponsor parachute. The carriage is shaped like a large silver bowl. It contains two packages. The first package contains a loaf of District 2 bread. The second package contains a jar of red liquid. I read the label. It's a revolutionary new chemical that can seal wounds in record time.

I'm about to discard the parachute when I spot a single note hidden in the bottom:

 _Jaehaera,_

 _Pixel knows about poison. Hunt her down. Be careful. She has a crossbow. You're doing great._

 _~L_

I leave to hunt immediately after I finish my soup. Right before I leave I decide to pour out the other bowl, so I don't eat it accidentally. I'm taking with me my sword and two knives. A package is tied around my right elbow containing a bountiful supply of medicine, including the jar of red wound sealer I was just sponsored. I carry a thermos of water in my left hand.

I'm feeling a little iffy about leaving the cornucopia exposed but I know it has to be done. Ideally I'd like someone to sponsor me some kind of explosive that I could use to blow up the horn. That way the supplies couldn't fall into the hands of the outliers. I know explosives are ridiculously expensive, but these people are made of money.

There's a spring in my step as I disappear into the woods, hoping a stray outlier or two will cross my path today.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

My eyes dart open. Judging by the light coming in through the entrance it must be about noon. I hear footsteps coming from above me. Chunks of dirt are raining down from the roof like hailstones. I duck under my only blanket to shield myself from the falling rocks. Then suddenly the footsteps stop.

"What's this?" a boy's voice murmurs. I recognize that voice. It belongs to one of the other tributes. I remember hearing it loads of times in the training center.

Then there's a loud thud as the boy drops into the tunnel. I can see his feet poking into the underground space and a bolt of panic runs through me. I grab my poison darts and hold my dart-gun in the ready position, ready to fire.

The boy drops down into the dark underground space. Before I can stop myself I've flicked on my flashlight beam and shined it at him. It's Jaro from 11.

Jaro lets out a scream and races back toward the entrance. It goes against every moral principle I've ever been taught, but I fire darts at him as he runs. My first one misses him by inches as he forces his body back into the tunnel. My second one misses by a breadth of several feet. And my third dart lands perfectly into his leg.

I hear Jaro let out a curse, and he stumbles as he grabs hold of his ankle. Then he starts running. In no time at all his footsteps have faded away to silence.

Will that single dart be enough to kill him? I feel evil hoping he's dead. But then again he's one of the most popular tributes left. In my heart of hearts I might be glad all of my darts didn't miss. Because if he dies that substantially increases my chances of going home.

I instantly hate myself for thinking that way. I'm a good person. I don't kill.

I'm a good person. I know I'll have to kill these last few tributes, and the poison will hopefully give them a quick death. A mercifully quick one.

I'm a good person. Killing is wrong and evil.

Crap.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I've never been this terrified in my life. Ever. No two ways about it.

When people have described panic attacks to me they've always said some enormous hand has grabbed them by the middle, muddling their thoughts and keeping them from moving or breathing or thinking about anything but the pain. And honestly I've always thought they were being a little dramatic.

Uh-uh. My blood pounds in my ears like a beating drum. My heart thumps in my chest. My feet and hands are so sweaty and tingly they might fall right off. I'm spinning through space. Thoughts rush through my mind. I can't focus on anything.

Until finally I can. I don't know how long it's been when I finally force my way to my feet. I glance back at the cave. The girl inside didn't follow me out.

It's a surprisingly long time before I spot one of her darts in my foot. In that moment I feel my insides crinkle up inside of me.

I bend down and tug the dart out of my skin. A thin purple line is spreading out from the wound.

I went to the poison station in training! I know for I fact I did! And one of the trainers taught me how to tell how much time you've got left until it's curtains. I figure I have thirty or forty before I'll be dead from the poison. Not a lot at all.

Priority number one: get far away. At first I have the energy to run but that energy drains from me in moments and I can't do anything more than hobble along through the darkening forest.

I have two hopes. Either I'll find something here in the forest that'll cure the poison or I'll be sponsored some kind of medication. Neither one seems terribly likely and honestly there isn't much hope here.

I try to ignore the pulsing feeling in my ankle as I wander through the woods with my supplies, praying for a miracle.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

Today I'll be building a shelter. I know it's nothing huge that'll end up hogging all the screen time, but I also know it'll work to keep me at least partly relevant. This late in the games the worst thing a tribute can do is lose relevance, and I intend to avoid that at all costs.

I'm going with the standard design. The one they taught us in the training center. Stacking rows of branches on top of each other in alternating directions and then coating the roof with foliage.

Foliage. I love that word. Hmmph.

I've managed to cough most of the water out of my lungs, but every once and a while I'll break out into a coughing fit. Fleeting shivers still run over my body from my brief plunge in the icy-cold floodwaters. But I do my best not to pay them any attention. Don't pay them attention and they'll go away. That's what I hope, at least.

When night falls I crawl into my newly-fashioned shelter. It's just as cold inside as it is outside. I guess my body will naturally warm it up as the night progresses.

I make a quick check to make sure everything's here. The little wire I still have left after building my (now lost) snares. My knife. My tin of bandages. Me half-eaten bag of dried fruit. And, of course, my sleeping bag. Phew.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

Snow crunches under my feet as I tread lightly over the frost. Delicate as I may be I still make a fair bit of sound as I travel, which is not exactly ideal but oh well. My other big concern is that I'm leaving obvious footsteps that might not be covered for a long time. If Jaehaera came up here she could corner me like a rat, no problem.

That's why I'm taking the most indirect route up the mountainside. So that it'll be difficult for anybody to follow me.

Around noon a sponsor gift lands on my shoulder with a thud. I grab it off and find the carriage filled with a bundle of additional arrows for my crossbow. I count up the arrows. There's thirteen of them.

When night falls I stumble across the yawning entrance of a cave in the mountainside. It's not exactly a five-star hotel, but it's the best I've got. I turn around to make sure nobody's following, and, quickly, shuffle inside.

The inside of the cave is moist and hot. The floor slants upwards for a few feet, and then I reach a wide, open chamber with a ceiling lost in mist.

Suddenly a loud noise almost knocks me off of my feet. It sounds like the loudest foghorn ever created. Like a symphony of lions roaring in unison. I see a large white mass stirring in the corner.

Nice seeing you, Mr. Yeti, look at the time, I should go.

I must be about an eighth of a mile away from the cave when the yeti bursts into the moonlight. Its hair is matted and logged with filth. And its teeth are as shark as steak knives.

I pull out my crossbow and sprint into the shadows. The thing is hideously ugly. It stretches to full height and I speculate it's slightly taller than grown man. Things aren't looking good for me.

Suddenly my blood turns to ice.

It's staring at me.

My feet are running ten seconds before my brain can catch up, and before I know it I'm barreling over the frosty mountainside, struggling to place more distance between myself and the yeti. After about a minute I risk a peek over my shoulder. The yeti is a fast mover, but it's also clumsy, constantly getting tangled in the pine trees and having to break its way out.

Then I hear a sound that makes my heart stop. It makes my stomach contract with terror. It's the sound of rushing water.

I've come to a rushing river too wide to wade across. I stick my foot in and immediately pull it out, cursing under my breath. That water is so cold it feels like fire. To make matters worse, the beast is charging straight toward me.

There's a part of my mind that wants me to just give up and let it eat me, but I don't let it win out. Survivors always think outside the box. Now is the time to be resourceful.

On second thoughts, the charging yeti is twenty seconds away.

There are times in our lives when we carefully draw a plan of action in our minds before making a crucial decision, knowing our detailed planning will pay off in the future. Then there are times when we just let our instincts take over and we do whatever the heck we feel like, repetitively screaming " _what the hell am I doing, what the hell am I doing_ " over and over in our heads.

Now is one of those times. It's not until I've landed in the river that I realize what I've done—I've grabbed a fallen log to use as a raft. It's already falling apart and I'm not even a tenth of the way over the river.

The yeti reaches the riverside and I have no choice but to use my hands as paddles and get away. My feet and pretty much half of my torso, which are under the water level, are engulfed in a burning sensation so agonizing it's indistinguishable from death by fire.

At long, long last, I reach the other side of the river. I jump off of my little raft and turn around. But I don't stay to have a chat over tea. All I catch is one glimpse of the huge mutt roaring with fury before I tighten my grip on my sopping-wet bag of supplies and melt away into the night.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18)**

The wind is cold tonight.

So that's it. Another day of hunting down. And I haven't found any prey. But that doesn't discourage me. I'm going to hunt until I kill every last tribute in these games. Slowly and painfully. I'll tear out their hearts and munch on their intestines until I can't stuff down any more.

The wind is cold tonight.

I haven't had a permanent shelter in days. I'll stalk through the forest all day and curl up in the leaves to sleep at night. Shelter is for people who are afraid. Weak. I'm not afraid of anything. And soon everyone will know that.

Sure, I might be alive. I have a brain and a heart and a set of lungs and they're all working. But I'm a killing machine. I don't need any of the things normal humans need.

The wind is cold tonight. It rustles around my clothes and whips at my hair and kisses me on the cheeks. The wind is alive. But nobody is feeding it. Nobody is giving it shelter. The wind and the night and I are good pals. And I know they'll stay that way forever and ever and ever, even after my heart stops beating and I crumple to dust for all eternity.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **7th: Nero Ryker, District 2 Male – Poisoned, by Jaehaera**

 **I will admit it. I was really lazy with writing this guy. I had so much potential to explore his transition from killing machine to kind-hearted and back again, and I do regret making those transitions quick and lacking description. But hey. At least his death was… not exactly painless, but certainly quick. And he didn't know it was coming, which is a bonus. With Nero's death only six tributes—a quarter of the original total—are left.**

* * *

 **Remaining Tributes:**

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17)**

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12)**

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16)**

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16)**

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18)**

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15)**

* * *

 **A/N: And another tribute falls! With one more death the final five will be determined and sponsoring will stop. So, once more, if you want to sponsor a tribute do that RIGHT NOW! :D Not much else to say about this one. It's a longer chapter so I'll let you all go now. Hope your lives are all going swell.**

 **P.S. From this point on Orford's Povs will become increasingly… strange. None of the crazy stuff he starts seeing/hearing will be real. Rest assured they are only delusions of his insanity and are not threats to the other tributes.**

 **Question: What, if anything, are you most disappointed was left out of the movie adaptations?**


	47. Descension (Day 8)

**District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

It's incredible to imagine it's been eight days since the games began. With only six tributes left I would guess the games will be resolved in the next few days—possibly day eleven or twelve? Either way, it's not shaping up to be a "long" games.

I've been hunting nonstop for almost two days straight, and both my legs feel like they're on fire. The only rests I've given myself were a few short power naps yesterday. Now I think I should be allowed to treat myself with a long rest. I think the Capitol will understand.

First I need to find a place that will hide me from the sight of the other tributes. But before I even do that I need to quench my thirst.

I follow the sound of rushing water to a thin stream covered with water lilies. I scoop some of the liquid up into a paper cup and then wait for my iodine capsules to do their job.

Eventually I find the perfect place to hide. Three or four tree trunks have fallen around a large ditch in the ground, creating a hidden space inside. I shove my supplies through first, and then I crawl into the fortress with wooden walls. Finally, I shove some leaves and sticks into the gaps.

Nobody should be able to see me in here.

I don't realize I've fallen asleep until I'm woken up by a beeping sound.

I glance at the sun. I must have been asleep for three or four hours. I shove my hand outside of my natural shelter and feel around for the parachute. My hands close around the metal carriage and I pull it inside. The carriage holds a single vial of thick, lazy yellow liquid. The note reads:

 _Jaehaera,_

 _Just in case._

 _~T_

It only takes me a few moments to deduce that this must be a poison antidote. Feeling reassured, I crawl my way back out of my shelter, ready to fit in a few more hours of hunting before the sun sets.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

Snow is falling, fluffy and pure white, building up around me and catching onto the outstretched branches of the pine trees. The mountain face looks like a Christmas card. A peaceful scene. At least, it would be peaceful if you weren't here in the moment.

I pull my coat around my shoulders, shivering. My breath is almost white in the air. The chattering of my teeth sounds like a jackhammer.

I can't feel any of my fingers. Or my toes. Or anything else for that matter. I could probably walk into a refrigerator to warm myself up.

Being plunged into the freezing cold river for a few seconds was enough to damage or destroy most of my supplies. What was once my package of berries is now a torn rag covered with moldy red spots. The slingshot I put together yesterday cracked straight in half. Fortunately, my wooden crossbow managed to survive relatively unharmed. At least, it's undamaged for now. I know the water damage will slowly destroy the weapon as the liquid moves deeper and deeper into the wood. The only thing I could do is dry it out over a fire, which I refuse to attempt for more reasons than one.

Then I hear the beeping of a sponsor parachute and my heart stops. The bowl lands right next to me. A bowl of scalding soup. The curls of hot steam roll up into my hands, warming them to the bone. I actually giggle with relief, touching all of my fingers and toes to the porcelain bowl and letting the warmth give them back their feeling.

I eat about half the bowl and then re-cover it to keep in the warmth. The square foot of snow around the bowl has already melted from the heat.

Picking everything up, I continue my precarious journey down the mountainside, hoping to reach the ground by tonight or tomorrow morning.

* * *

 **District 5: Adelaide Hampton (16) Pov-**

The birdsong wakes me up on the morning of the eighth day. I open my eyes, and, yawning, stretch out my limbs. The forest is beautiful. Puffy white clouds dot an azure blue sky. The grass of the far-away meadow looks thick and fuzzy. Swarms of colorful butterflies flutter to and fro.

But I'm a heavy sleeper. Birdsong doesn't seem like something that could wake me up. And I can't shake the suspicion that something bad is about to happen. Little fleeting shivers run all over my body as I turn left and right, searching for a threat.

Suddenly something thick and damp wraps around my left wrist. A vine. I jump to my feet and tear the vine off, trying to suppress a gasp of horror.

Oh, shit! I rolled into a patch of vines in my sleep!

I try to run but fall forward onto my face like an idiot. Both of my ankles are already bound. I reach down to free them, only for the vines to constrict my wrists.

The vines have a mind of their own. In three seconds they've pulled me flat on the ground. My wrists and ankles are bruised and bloody from fighting. My screams pierce through the forest. But I'm in one of the farthest corners of the arena. There's only a tiny chance anybody is nearby to hear them.

Suddenly an agony more painful than anything I have ever felt in my life darts through my torso. My body is about to split in half. My whole figure is going to be either sliced into a billion pieces or tightened and tightened until I disappear into thin air.

A vine is growing straight through my abdomen. After what feels like a million years it protrudes from my front. An instant later everything tumbles away.

* * *

 **District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-**

The leafy forest floor crunches under my feet. The sun has been setting for far too long, certainly almost an hour. Then again, the games sun isn't real. It can pretty much do whatever it wants.

I hear a faint thumping sound and jump ten feet into the air, running for cover behind a broad-trunked oak tree. Only a rabbit.

For the entire day I've had the feeling that someone—or something—has been watching me, following me. I haven't seen anything out the ordinary with my own eyes, but that just makes it more terrifying. The fact that I'm so sure something is following me is seriously freaky.

I was planning on returning to my shelter before nightfall, but that's out of the question now. I'll have to set up a camp somewhere and then return home in the morning.

After a few minutes of searching, I find the perfect place to rest. There's a large tree growing on a hill, and its roots are always perpendicular to the direction of gravity, so they stick out of the hillside, creating a space underground where I can comfortably fit.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like bristles of a nail brush. The millionth time today I've had that feeling.

I look both ways. But I'm alone except for the empty forest. Just me and the forest and the wind and the moon.

* * *

 **District 10: Orford Shaw (18) Pov-**

The trees in this area of the forest are all ramrod straight and completely parallel. Even though they don't move I can tell they're alive. They whisper to me. They sing me their strange songs of nature, of all the wonderful and terrible things they have seen.

When I twist a branch off of a tree it makes a deep groaning sound, like the sound an old man makes when he is dying very slowly.

The moonlight shines down onto me. Its light gathers around me in small wispy clouds, telling me I'm doing well, telling me to keep moving and I'll be out of here in no time. The moon guides me along my way. She tells me where I'm going and she tells me where I've been.

I've been following Lincoln around the forest for over a day. I've nearly lost him twice but always manage to find him again. The leaves and the branches mumble to me, telling me where to find him. The murmuring of the crickets and the mosquitoes lets me know when I need to be especially quiet.

I watch silently, grinning, as Lincoln slithers down into a sheltered space under an area of exposed tree roots. I glance down at my knives. I could easily kill him right now if I wanted to.

I creep closer. I think I should kill him now. The night had guided me so much along my journey. I think she'd like to witness everything coming to fruition.

I slide my knife into the side of Lincoln's neck as suddenly as I can manage. The sounds of forest around me heighten from a whisper to a hiss to scream. They all know death is coming. They can taste it. They can smell it.

Lincoln wakes up screaming and I clap my hand over his mouth.

"Try to scream and I'll kill you," I mumble.

That shuts him up. Long enough for me to stab my knife into his abdomen repetitively, over and over, with all the force I can muster. In no time at all Lincoln's body is an empty rag doll, a shell of the life it used to contain.

As soon as his cannon shot fires I cut a long slice through his torso and reach inside. Blood squirts here and there as I feel through his organs, tracing my fingers along his bones. At one point I have to break through a net of bone to reach the thing I'm looking for with the butt of my knife.

I drop the glob of cells onto the forest floor, throwing out my leg to make sure it doesn't roll away. Then I dig in.

A human heart tastes like rotten fish and vomit and earwax—just like how I imagined.

I stare at the sky with a cackle. There's no way they aren't going to kill me now, the way they kill all cannibals in the games. The tracker in my arm is burning hot, and all of a sudden my whole body is vibrating with a powerful electric current that shuts everything down in seconds.

I sigh slightly as the world slips away, knowing I've served the night well.

* * *

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

I groggily open my eyes. It's pitch black—other than the occasional streak of silver moonlight. It's been at least since hours since the sponsor parachute came down carrying the long hypodermic needle. I remember jamming it into my leg and then blacking out.

I pull up the leg of my pants and glance at the wound. It's doing much better. Blood has stopped coming. The agonizing pain radiating from the wound has diminished by a substantial amount. The antidote is working well. At this rate I should be up and running in half a day, if not even less.

The antidote is making me super sleepy though. I'm already feeling tired. After gathering a few berries and having a sip of water, I gingerly lie down on the forest floor, falling asleep on the instant.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **6th: Adelaide Hampton, District 5 Female – Constricted to death, by choking vines**

This girl was really good for what she was. Light-hearted, somewhat comedic, quirky; she was pretty much the vanilla "District 5 girl starter pack". She was also my first experience with writing the poison dart weapons, which made her really stand out to me. When I first introduced her at the reapings I could tell she had a lot of potential to turn cliché. I hope I managed to avoid that. Enjoy the afterlife, Adelaide :D

 **5th: Lincoln Blitz, District 6 Male – Repeatedly stabbed in abdomen, by Orford**

I feel bad for this kid. Spent years living on the streets, only to fall prey to the insane boy from 10 due to the coincidence of being reaped. The universe was not kind to Lincoln Blitz. The one upside is that there's nobody to mourn for him—but that means he will be quickly forgotten, like so many other tributes who have entered the games over the years.

 **4th: Orford Shaw, District 10 Female – Electrocuted with tracker**

Orford was my favorite tribute, or at least the most fun to write. I just love all the transitions he had as a character, starting as a boy without *exactly everything* there, and slowly morphing into a literal madman with psychopathic, cannibalistic impulses every ten seconds. And you have no idea how hard it was for me to keep the secret about what his doppelganger really was. Every chapter I was bursting to let the secret go, but I knew I had to wait off until the tail end of the games for several reasons. The, ahem, forest and the night will mourn his lost, no doubt.

* * *

 **Remaining Tributes:**

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17)**

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12)**

 **District 11: Jaro Veldt (15)**

* * *

 **A/N: And, just like that, only three tributes are left and sponsoring is over. This story is drawing to a close; only a few more days left and then we'll have our victor. I'd love to hear any thoughts you might have. I love all of your reviews and I read all of them and take every word to heart. Have a nice day :D**


	48. Rising Waters (Day 9)

**District 11: Jaro Veldt (15) Pov-**

* * *

 _Jaro,_

 _The doctors said there's a 96 percent chance I have less than a month to live. I want to you to know I was the one who made that big rock follow you around. I talked to the peacekeepers and they talked to the gamemakers and they said they'd put in in the games if I really wanted them to. When we were little we always used to jump around on the rocks next to the house, remember? I thought it would remind you of me. I thought it would keep you strong. But then I realized it was scaring you so I told them to stop. Whether or not I survive the next few days I want you to know I'm so proud of you for making it so far._

 _Thinking of you,  
Cora_

* * *

In my dream, a mysterious, freezing-cold mist is surrounding me. Suddenly it covers my mouth and I can't breathe. I get to my knees and see that the entire landscape is covered with the weird blue mist, and it's rising—I try to get to high ground but the flood engulfs me in no time.

I wake from one nightmare right into another, because the arena is actually flooding. What was once the enormous green valley is now a glassy blue lake, being supplied by a number of waterfalls pouring in around the perimeter.

I quickly race to high ground and my stomach drops. Half of the entire arena is flooded. The floodwaters are pouring out of nowhere, engulfing trees and rushing up hills. Soon there'll be nothing left but the cornucopia, and in time even that will be underwater.

A yelp tumbles from my lips as the cold floodwater splashes over my feet. I might be able to outrun the rising waters at a brisk walk, but I don't want to take my chances. This is the finale. I discard everything I don't need and then race for the cornucopia. All I have with me is my axe, two knives, and my thermos of water.

My heart skips a beat as a creaking, groaning sound comes from my right. I've lived in 11 long enough to know what that sound is—a falling tree. Adrenaline powers me out of the way quickly, and the trunk misses me by mere feet. The vibration it creates when it hits the ground is enough to send me sprawled out onto my limbs. But I have to keep moving. I know if I stop for more than a few minutes the floodwaters will engulf me and it'll be game over.

Suddenly a fiery kind of agony erupts through my back and I stumble through space, screaming. I feel hot blood running down my back. I quickly turn around and realize this is a real duel. The kind where the strongest tribute wins. Jaehaera swings her sword once more, and I pull out my axe just in time to deflect her blow.

I stumble backward, hissing, and Jaehaera's next move is devious. Her sword easily manages to cut into my side. Despite the blood, the pain isn't excruciating. I don't think I could bleed out from that blow alone.

The next second I manage to disorient the 2 girl long enough to make a blow of my own. I swing my hatchet to once side, and she instinctively twitches to block the blow—and that's all I need to send one of my knives flying into her leg.

Jaehaera curses and slashes her sword sideways, and this time I'm not quick enough to sidestep. The blade digs into my side, and she saws it back and forth, cutting through my flesh and organs. The stinging, prickling feeling is so intense my knees feel like buckling. And in only a few seconds they do.

Every cell of my body tries to deny it. But I'm out of energy. I'm helpless as Jaehaera swings her sword into my neck, and it only hurts for a minute. Then there is only warmth.

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

The nearby floodwaters ripple and bounce as Jaro's cannon shot rolls over the forest. I know I should take a moment to pillage him of his supplies, but I just don't think he's carrying anything worth my time Even his axe will just weigh me down. I take a quick swig from his thermos (germs aren't really a big deal in the games) and then I'm off, suddenly conscious I'm knee-deep in the flood once more.

I can imagine half of the forest is underwater by this point. Since the bloodbath, I've figured some kind of flood was coming. When the cornucopia is the highest point in the arena, you know a flood or mudslide or something similar is probably going to occur.

This is the moment I've been waiting for for years. My skin tingles with excitement as I race toward the horn, swinging my sword at my side. I'm about to accomplish what Daeron never managed to accomplish. I'm about to win the Hunger Games. I bet Rhaenys is furious. I bet she's punching holes through the screen projector.

From the height of the cornucopia, it's easy to see the entire arena. It's a scene of absolute chaos. Trees topple and caves explode and the foaming demon of the water just keeps rising and rising. The floodwaters consume the entire forest, then my lips twist themselves into a grin as the water creeps into the meadow.

Suddenly a roar pierces the morning, and it's not the roar of the floodwater. It's the roar of a mutt. A hideously ugly… thing… bursts out of the forest. It seems impossible to classify. It looks like some kid asked Santa for a dog but misspelled his name. The creature is huge, easily the size of a pickup truck, and it has gleaming silvery horns that sparkle creepily in the sunlight. Its face is so shadowy that I can't make out its features, but even from this distance I can smell its breath. It smells like bad meat. Its enormous paws end in talons as sharp as steak knives.

But the mutt isn't alone. Mere meters in front of it, a small girl is running for her life. The girl's dark hair is frizzy and tangled and split at the ends. And even from this distance I can make out her eyes, always sparkling with a kind of playful curiosity.

I was hoping she didn't drown in the flood. Now I'll get to kill her in person. It's that tiny brat from 3. It's Pixel Watt.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

There's never a good time for an enormous, rabid canine from hell to attack you. But during my sleep is easily at the bottom of the list.

The weird thing is that, when it first wakes me up, I'm not utterly terrified. I guess it's because I'm stuck in that space between sleepiness and wakefulness where your body is trapped in the prison of sleep but you're also partly aware of what's going on around you.

It's only when a huge glob of the creature's saliva lands on my head that my eyes open wide and I jump to my feet. Only my screams do the scene justice as I make out the form of the huge canine staring down at me, rotten yellow fangs bared.

I'd like to say I have some peaceful realization that the end of my existence is nigh. That I'm about to gracefully leave the world.

To tell the truth, all I'm thinking is, _aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!_

The mutt is big and therefore fast, but it's clumsy. Every few minutes it gets tangled in the brush and I have time to place a few more meters between us.

At first I think another glob of doggie saliva has landed on my head, but this is far too cold and far too runny to be saliva. It's water. Splashing down all around me, squirting out of the ground and siding down hills and rushing to low ground like a rapids. The surprise sweeps me off my feet (pun courtesy of yours truly) and for a moment it seems like there's no hope of staying straight up.

In the first few seconds I nearly fall over three times. My only hope of escaping the flood is to get up the nearest hill faster than the mutt. I'm not a good swimmer but I know the basics. Grabbing onto whatever I can to keep myself steady, I slowly work my way upward.

When I'm finally on dry land I risk a peek over my shoulder. Crap. Nobody told me this thing could swim.

The tide of rising water stays at my heels as I rush along through the forest, constantly threatening to engulf me. My footsteps are washed over in a fraction of a second after I leave them. Trees topple and slide away like a bobsled run. In only a few minutes the devil's house pet is back on my trail. Its roars send fleeting shivers down my spine.

Time speeds up to a blur. I don't dare take another peek backward. The sound of the mutt's footsteps tell me it's dangerously close behind me and if I stop for a second I'll be its next dinner.

I spot something a few feet ahead that takes me aback. A dead body. A dead _human_ body. It's Jaro Veldt from District 11. The grass is stained with blood streaks that splash out from an enormous gash in the dead boy's side.

The peculiar thing is that, a few feet away, there's a different bloodstain that looks completely independent of the first. I deduce that Jaro and Jaehaera must have had a fight here. The separate splash of blood came out of the 2 girl's body.

Some gut instinct tells me I shouldn't ignore this. I reach down and tear out a bundle of the grass stained with Jaehaera's blood. Then I tuck it into my pocket and keep running. The entire scene is underwater by the time I'm ten meters away.

Why do I think the bloodstained grass is a souvenir worth collecting? I honestly have no clue.

In no time at all the cornucopia is in sight, and a black worm of dread crawls in my stomach. I know I'm either going to win here or die in agony. Those are the only two options.

Can I bring District 3 its first victory since Router seven years ago? I hope so.

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **3rd: Jaro Veldt, District 11 Male – Slashed with sword, by Jaehaera**

Where to begin with this kid? Let's listen to Julie Andrews and start at the very beginning. Volunteering for a sibling or family member in need. Just about the most cliché trope in Hunger Games fanfic history. I'll admit when I first read his form I felt he had the most possibility to turn cliché of any tribute in these games. But I tried to make his Povs interesting by varying the voice and the length. He was well-bred, well-fed, and well-read, at least for Panemian standards. He could have easily been a victor. But not all things are meant to be.

* * *

 **Remaining Tributes:**

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17)**

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12)**

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter we'll have our victor. Keep reviews coming. I love them :D**


	49. And Last (Finale)

**District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

Pixel Watt rushes closer and closer to the cornucopia, followed by the enormous mutt and the pulsating tide of water at her heels. As she grows closer and her appearance clearer, I take a quick check of her body to see if she's severely injured in any way. A few bruises here and there. Some cuts and scrapes. But nothing major.

Then I look down at myself. For the last few minutes I've been wiping the blood off of my leg and chest. It leaks in small rivers from the gash that Jaro gave me just before he let out his last breath. I finally decide it's too late to do any more healing. I quickly bind a thick bandage over the cut, slide on my plastic-y body armor, and hold my sword at the ready.

The shine on Pixel's skin tells me she's wearing body armor too. Crap. That won't make it impossible to kill her, just much, much harder. And there's the issue of the elephant-sized canine behind her. But for now I need to take things one at a time.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

When I finally reach the cornucopia I jump onto the roof, where Jaehaera also stands. My final opponent. The girl I'm either going to kill or be killed by. The mutt barrels closer and closer, teeth bared, snarling.

I don't even have time to breathe. Jaehaera lunges forward and swipes at me with her sword. She has a kind of dangerous grace in her movements that makes my stomach twist in terror.

With a yelp I stumble backward, narrowly dodging the blade of her sword.

I quickly unstrap the crossbow from my back and fire at Jaehaera. The 2 girl quickly leaps out from the path of the dart. Now to my right, I have to turn to face her, and in that moment Jaehaera makes another blow. Before I know it the blade of her sword is buried into my waist, one of the few parts of my body the armor doesn't cover. A terrible, fiery agony erupts through my body. More excruciating than anything I've ever felt before. Period.

Suddenly a weird realization strikes me. Unless the mutt suddenly broke a leg or something, it should have reached the cornucopia by now. I quickly look up and can't believe my eyes. The mutt is being kept a certain distance away by some kind of electrical pulse inflicted by the gamemakers.

The message is clear. _We'll keep this ugly thing away from you as long as you keep drawing each other's blood._

* * *

 **District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-**

Suddenly a crashing sound roars up around us, and the cornucopia rumbles so much it threatens to throw me off. The floodwaters have reached the cornucopia, and the rising water is slowly climbing upward. Dozens of packs of supplies bob on the surface of water. Carts tip over. Silverware floats off of tables.

I immediately curse myself for getting so distracted. Two sharp pinches in my abdomen tell me Pixel has landed two more darts in me with her crossbow. They haven't gone too deep, stopped from doing so by my armor. My first instinct is to pull them out, but I know from my training that's the last thing I want to do. Despite the pain I keep on fighting like a career. And a career never gives up fighting. Ever.

Momentarily abandoning all forms of caution, I lunge forward, nearly tackling Pixel. But she slips out of my arms in no time. With such a tiny, lithe body she's as swift as an arrow.

* * *

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12) Pov-**

A cold wave of panic washes through my body. The floodwaters are rising impossibly fast. In the blink of an eye Jaehaera and I are standing ankle-deep in the cold water, and for the first time I realize the terror of drowning. The water threatens to rob me of all my energy as it rises, higher and higher and higher. In seconds it's up to my waist.

Then it's impossible to stand on the roof any longer and we're both swimming. I'm not the universe's best swimmer but I know the basics pretty well. I spot Jaehaera swimming toward a floating crate a few yards away from her, and I realize I'll have to do the same. I find an empty barrel and crawl inside. I fit rather nicely.

Then a growl pierces the air. We've gone too long without inflicting harm on each other's bodies. The mutt's electric constraints are slowly dissipating. In moments it's swinging its paws. I make a desperate attempt to paddle away, but it's useless. It's so hard to move around with my torso jammed into the wooden barrel.

Then I remember something.

I reach for my pocket.

I pull out the bundle of grass stained with Jaehaera's blood.

I tie the grass onto a floating stick.

Then I hurl it at the mutt like the world's most demented game of fetch.

The mutt instinctively opens its maw and the grass-coated stick lands straight in its mouth. The mutt releases a growl of pleasure, tasting Jaehaera's blood.

Then its constraints are gone. And it paddles toward the 2 girl for a second helping.

Jaehaera's screams pierce the morning. I can avert my eyes but I can't block out her desperate cries for help.

You know the sound your shirt makes when you bend over and it rips a little bit? Take that sound but multiply it by fifty. That's what it sounds like as the creature digs its teeth into Jaehaera's body and tears her straight in half.

Then I finally break. The blood and the stress and everything that's been weighing down on me ever since I was reaped hits me in one punch and I'm bawling. My eyes feel like they're on fire from how much they sting.

Before I can correct the barrel, a number of strong waves knock it over and plunge me into the water. Then I see something I know I'll never forget. Never as long as I live. Jaehaera's body, torn into a billion pieces, floating here and there. A long string of guts floats on to my right. An entire eye drifts within a foot of my abdomen. The water is dyed an ugly pink. There's an entire hand, completely intact. A leg. Part of an ear.

I kick back to the surface just in time to hear Jaehaera Blackfyre's cannon shot roll over the arena. My mind is hardly processing what my eyes are seeing as I feel myself being lifted upward out of my prison.

 _I am a victor._

* * *

 **Deaths this Chapter:**

 **2nd: Jaehaera Blackfyre, District 2 Female – Mauled to death, by dog muttation**

Jaehaera's always had a soft spot in my heart and I know she always will. She was the first tribute submitted to this SYOT. That was one of the biggest moments that I realized that somebody cared about my writing. The moment that I realized somebody liked my writing enough to dedicate some of their time and creative energy into a story of mine, which made me happier than a kid on 24 December. As for the character herself, she had a backstory which I thought was interesting, a reaping chapter a lot of you seemed to enjoy, and a plotline in the games I thought was intriguing. I know this is pretty twisted to say about the Hunger Games, but she fought bravely to the very end. Happy trails. You will not be forgotten.

* * *

 **The Victor:**

 **District 3: Pixel Watt (12)**

* * *

 **A/N: And so our victor emerges. Next chapter is the epilogue, and then this story has earned its wings. Please consider reviewing if you're able :D**


	50. Epilogue

**Pixel Watt Pov-**

 **30 Years Later…**

The four of us wake up before the sun. We've got a long day ahead of us and we figure we may as well get it started as early as possible. We quickly change and wash and then slip into our shoes.

Cade, my husband, looks so out of place in District 3 it's crazy. He's literally the only District 3 citizen I've ever seen with green eyes, apart from the rest of his family. His hair is short, wavy, and brown. When he smiles his eyes smile too, lighting up playfully like two stars.

Microh is almost 10, and he seems to have inherited more of my traits than those of his father. His hair is jet black and smooth. His skin is the color of ivory. And, of course, he's always up for some mischief.

Lucia is 8. She wears thick-rimmed, steel glasses. She's always pulling her hair back. To keep it out of her thinking space. She's always thinking. Watching. Analyzing everything.

We quickly shuffle out of the door into the gathering light.

"Are you sure you remembered the fart bombs?" I hiss.

Microh nods, holding up the small suitcase. The four of us stayed up all night making them yesterday. Other than my friends Gamma and Giga, they're the only people who know the secret recipe, per se. The nasty stink isn't easy to recreate unless you know exactly what goes in it.

In no time we've arrived at the place where Giga, Gamma and I set off our first fart bomb the morning I was reaped for the 83rd Hunger Games. It still looks exactly the same as it did thirty years ago. The same tall, grey buildings to the left and right. The same well. The same rickety steel shed.

"Shhh!" Cade says. "Someone's coming now!"

We duck into the shadows. I clap my hand over Lucia's mouth to keep her from laughing as a group of two boys comes into sight, chatting quietly. Ever so carefully, Microh reaches into his case and tosses one of the fart bombs at the boys' feet.

The four of us burst out laughing as the small spherical object explodes, sending out a white cloud of stuff that sends the boys reeling. It takes minutes for the stench to dissipate. There will always be something uniquely satisfying about pulling a harmless prank on somebody. Even when I'm 100.

It takes about an hour for us to use up all of the fart bombs. Microh tosses them all into the suitcase to be reloaded later and then we start back to the Victor's Village to drop them off.

My heart catches in my throat in a kind of throbbing ache as we step out of the house to travel to our next destination. The tribute graveyard. Every year, Cade and I lay flowers on the graves of the dead tributes. It isn't much but we feel like it pays a kind of tribute to their memory.

The Hunger Games are a terrible thing. Even though mine ended three decades ago I can still hear the screams as though they were ten seconds ago. A tear rolls down my cheek at the thought of little Microh and Lucia in their childhood days, unaware that the world ahead of them is uglier than they can even pretend to imagine. Someday they'll know why Mommy wakes up screaming every night. Someday they'll know why I get the nightmares; why they'll never go away. But I have to take things as they come. I have to live for the now.

I take Cade's hand in mine as the graveyard grows closer. I wonder how many tears have been shed here. How many hearts have been broken beyond repair. How many innocent young souls have been torn out of the universe far too soon.

Cade pulls out the bouquet of flowers when we pass the gateway of the graveyard. The cemetery is beautiful. Butterflies and grasshoppers flutter to and fro. Colorful songbirds soar overhead, their feathers gently illuminated in the light of the rising sun. The fuzzy green grass is like a carpet. It's the most breathtaking place imaginable. But behind every beautiful thing there is some kind of pain. I know that well. All too well.

Cade tightens his hand around mine, and a kind of warmth spreads through me. The warmth of another's love. The light of the heart that makes tolerable this existence.

"Ready?" Cade asks as we kneel beside the first grave, helping me wipe away my tears with the back of his hand.

I nod. "I'm ready."

* * *

 **Six months go by fast. Some crazy stuff has gone down in my life since then and I'm so glad this story has been a part of everything. Thank you all for sticking with me, whether by submitting or reviewing or just being there.**

 **I know this question will get asked a lot if I don't address it now, so I figured I'd put something here. I don't think I'll be doing another SYOT in the foreseeable future. Accepting 24 characters and shaping and developing them over the course of their separate journeys is an exhilarating ride but also an extremely difficult one. I'm taking a break from art of the SYOT for now. Besides, I seriously need to pay more attention to 23 Cannons anyway.**

 **I also think it's so satisfying this SYOT is ending on a perfect 50 chapters. I know there's so much more I could write about Pixel's life after the games, and who knows, I might in the future, but for now I think Ms. Watt's story is best left up to the imagination of the reader.**

 **I've been rambling far too long. Thanks for shaping this little story into what it is now. You guys are the best.**

 **-Cjborange**


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